The Case of the Discerning Heiress
by VHunter07
Summary: Not every case has yet been laid before the eyes of the world......!FINALLY COMPLETE! Ch 11 is Authors Note, Ch 12-13 are the last two chapters. Don't read them out of order, you'll be confused. XD
1. Authors' Note

_Ok, ok, so it took a little longer than I said...but sheesh, you guys have got to be used to my rotten sense of time by now! lol _

_Anyway, it took longer because I went back and read my book and discovered I didn't like it...at all. Ok, maybe it's not all that bad, but it's pretty rough. Mainly just because I wrote it about a year ago and since then my writing style has undergone severe amelioration. At least I hope so...:)_

_So, now I'm completely re-vamping this entire story. So the chapters may take a little longer in coming than I thought they would. But I'll try not to make it too long. I'm working harder on this story than all the others put together!_

_And I know it's a far cry from my other stuff, but hey, I'm broadening my horizons! So please let me know what y'all think!_

_So anyway, thanks for reading, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! Thanks!_

XOXO

- VHunter


	2. Chapter One: First Impressions

It is quite against the will of my renowned friend that I take up my pen to record this case. He has done everything short of threaten me not to do so. Even after I have assured him that this narrative will not come before public eye until long after our deaths, he is still obstinate in the matter. But belonging completely in a category of its' own, I feel this case must be recorded lest it be lost for all time. Therefore I must unwillingly go against his wishes. In the matter of mystery this case may easily fall under the shadow of countless others, but it is this one alone that has the ability to strike so deep into the heart of its reader. It has been over a decade now since the day it first came to our attention, yet it seems a great deal longer. The day that altered our lives in ways that neither of us could possibly imagine, will be eternally entrenched in my memory.

-Dr. John H. Watson

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**"The Case of the Discerning Heiress"**

**Chapter One: First Impressions**

"DUKE OF ROCHESTER REJECTED BY MIDDLE CLASS HEIRESS"

I read the Times' headlines aloud, laughing at my friends' reaction.

"It is indeed a sad day in London when the only news to be had is a refused marriage proposal." He mused sulkily.

"But Holmes, this is no mere refusal! That woman had the Duke _literally_ thrown off of her property!"

"No doubt his actions merited such a remonstrance."

"Very likely, but still...one does not hear of the gentry getting their deserts every day, does one?"

Upon received no response, I turned back to the article in question.

"Miss Marian Moore, only daughter of the deceased coal tycoon, Phillip Moore, has turned down yet _another_ eligible suitor. His lordship, Duke William Francis Rochester was thrown bodily from Moore Hall last Tuesday by the lady's stable hands.

"The Duke claims to be pressing charges against the well known heiress, but it is doubtful that anything will come into court. This will be the exceptional Miss Moore's' _fifth _time in as many weeks to make headlines with her various suitors and their escapades. Miss Moore has scarcely been seen outside of her home in the past few years, yet gentlemen and laymen alike continue to pursue her and her vast fortune. It is not unheard of for a literal brawl to take place at her front door should two men attempt to call simultaneously. There is even a rumour that a duel once took place several years ago, in which both parties were killed."

Holmes groaned. "Oh Watson, really..."

"No, no! It's quite true, I heard that myself."

I turned the page to view a portrait of the woman taken some time ago. She was indeed lovely. Her exquisite coal black hair framed her oval shaped face as the petals of a rose. And though I could hardly gather this from the print, it was said that her eyes were of the most striking blue.

I rose and held the paper before my friends' languid gaze. "Even you must admit that she's beautiful."

His dull gray eyes never left the ceiling. "Very."

"Holmes!"

"Watson, there are many beautiful women in this world...one more is nothing of great interest. One of the most beautiful women I've ever known was-"

I waved him off quickly. "Yes, I know, a foul murderess or conniving poisoner, or brilliant jewel thief or privy to some other equally horrific occupation. Truly Holmes, one would think you _intentionally_ acquaint yourself with only such horrid people."

He gave me only a noncommitting shrug.

I frowned. "Women do not always possess such odious tendencies. I have met countless females with good, gentle dispositions who-"

"Who care for nothing save their new bonnets and their string of suitors."

"They are not all-"

"I know Watson, I truly know. There are, in fact, some women of great spirit and compassion, that do wonders for the world..."

There was a sudden knock upon our sitting room door. As Mrs. Hudson was out, Holmes rose to the occasion. All the while continuing his tirade.

"...but even you must admit that they are few and far between. I have had the pleasure of meeting several myself...though a specific one does not enter my mind presently."

I sat down and returned to my newspaper with a sniff of indigence. "Say what you like Holmes, say what you like. But nearly all women have at least some redeeming qualities in their nature. They may not be brilliant as _you _but they are not all positively stupid!"

"How very kind of you to say so Dr. Watson."

I froze. Unless Holmes was using some sort of voice disguise...

Slowly I looked up from the portrait of the heiress, Miss Marian Moore, only to find the woman herself standing in the doorway before Sherlock Holmes.

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_Ok, go ahead, kill me...I know you want to...I can take it..the little button is right there...(braces self for inevitable destruction)_


	3. Chapter Two: Miss Moore

**"The Case of the Discerning Heiress"**

**Chapter Two: Miss Moore**

At one glance, I could see that she was all that was said about her. Her gaze swept over us briefly before she swept past my friend, her emerald green dress rustling softly, and seated herself in our chair reserved for clients.

"Please take your chair Mr. Holmes; I will come directly to the point, as I know you have a good many claims upon your valuable time. My problem is a simple one I am sure, and I would not have deemed it worthy of your inestimable services, save for the fact that the local constabulary has refused to acknowledge its very existence." she said.

I breathed a sigh of sheer relief. After my somewhat insulting comment I had half expected to find myself tossed from my own flat.

Yet she made no further mention of it. Though from her piercing glance I could see that my error was by no means entirely forgotten.

Holmes bowed slightly and did as she directed. "Pray proceed Miss Moore."

"I did not introduce myself for I assumed, correctly I see, that you would know me. Just as I know both you and your colleague. As you may also be aware of, I have a goodly number of gentlemen who vie for my attention with sometimes foolish ferocity. Normally they give up after a time; rarely do their infatuations produce violent results. Occasionally, but it is the exception, not the rule."

Her voice was as beautiful as her person; it commanded ones' full attention with a low, confidential like quality.

It is one of these men who have given me reason to seek your assistance." She continued.

"This man I speak of, approached me about two months ago, I believe it was, as I was walking to the London Science Museum."

I here interrupted her narrative with a question. "Do you visit the museum often, Miss Moore?"

She gave me an odd look and replied, "Quite. As I was saying, this man introduced himself as Lewis Carmichael. He explained that he'd known of me for quite some time, and only recently, having suddenly come into a small inheritance, had he summoned up the courage to make an approach. He asked that I join him for dinner, then suggested the theater; finally after receiving adamantly negative responses to both, he begged that I at least allow him to escort me through the museum. Being able to bear it no longer, I called a hansom, and went directly home, taking care to be certain I was not followed. I thought surely that would be the end of the affair. But the next afternoon, as I strolled about the grounds surrounding the Hall, the man appeared again! I haven't a clue as to how he managed to get in unnoticed. I ordered him off of my property, and thankfully he conceded. But only that first time.

"Subsequently, Mr. Carmichael has had to be removed by my stable hands twice. He has nearly driven me to insanity with his persistence. After one month, his requests for attentions, became offers of marriage! For the past month and a week, I've received two letters a day, one in morning and one in evening, as well as gifts of jewelry, flowers and etcetera. Being at my wits' end, I told him to his face that if he did not desist his annoying me, I should be forced to call the law into the matter. The brazen man then began to threaten me, saying that I was a fool, and that I would only harm myself by continuing in my stubborn refusals. He swore that I would marry him and no other, and that he would be obliged to kill any other male that he caught pursuing me. I attempted to make good my former threat, but the inspector that I spoke with, laughed me off. He said that I'd broken the poor mans' heart, but he doubted anything serious should come of it.

"Therefore sirs, I appeal to you, as my last resort. I regret that it is not so pretty a problem as you prefer, Mr. Holmes, and has naught to offer, but a proper reward, which you so wisely place little value upon. But truly, I've no where else to turn, for I fear the man might carry out his oaths."

This woman intrigued me. With her sharp, business manner. Yet as she spoke her eyes fairly danced in a rather mischievous way. And how well she seemed to read my friend.

I looked to see what Holmes reaction to all this might be. He sat back in his chair, looking over his steepled fingers at our extraordinary client, and, much to my surprise wore a distinctly interested expression. The right corner of his mouth seemed to twitch upward in amusement as if he was sharing in some private joke. I could not imagine what he found so amusing about her strange tale.

He finally spoke," Did you notice anything in particular about this Lewis Carmicheal? Anything unusual?"

Miss Moore thought a moment before responding. "Nothing so very unusual, he is a tall, rather large man, dark complected, rather over middle aged I should say. He seems to have some sort of accent. Though it is rather hard to place due to its slightness ...American perhaps? Oh! And he has a small tattoo on his left hand of two guns lying across each other with the words,'Totus Pro Unus' beneath them."

Holmes gave her a small nod of approval.  
"Very observant Miss Moore. That tells us something about your strange suitor already. He has obviously served in an American regiment of armed forces."

Holmes went to his book shelf and withdrew a small dusty volume. "Ah yes, the crossed arms tattoo places him in the 26th Regiment. They are best known for the assistance in the African campaign some years ago."

He returned to his seat. "Though not much, it is something." He sat a moment in contemplative silence.

"Miss Moore we should be delighted to assist you in your predicament. You are astutely correct in saying that it is not quite as deep as I should prefer, but it does have its own singular points. I believe the majority of our investigation must be made on the premises of your home. Tell me madam, do you feel that we should come directly to the Hall, or will tomorrow be sufficient for you?"

"I do not fear for myself sir, but for any poor gentleman who may dare to enter my 'forbidden' grounds. But since it is already past six, I believe that tomorrow morning will be quite suitable. I shall expect you at, say ten? Good then, thank you both for your invaluable time, good evening."

And she was gone, as quickly as she'd come. I wondered how such a woman had managed to live such a solitary life as she was known to lead. But then, her present situation displayed just how eccentric she was. I was slightly inclined to agree with the inspector to whom she'd spoken. This Carmichael fellow was probably just another broken-hearted sap, who had more spirit than the others. My heart went out to the poor man. Then of course, if Holmes did not agree with this theory, there was most likely more to it than either I or the inspector could hope to see. I turned to question him on this, as he filled his pipe.

"Well Holmes? What do you make of it all?"

He stared thoughtfully into the fire before answering.

"An interesting little conundrum, Watson. And an estimable client. I fancy she herself more mysterious than her queer pursuer."

"How so? She did not seem so very odd to me...remarkable perhaps...but not odd."

He gave me a tolerant smile. "How many ladies of our time live such as she? Or even gentlemen, for that matter. Unmarried, though pursued. Unsociable, though eligible for even the most exalted circles. And her choice of entertainment, museums of science? Most unnatural. Her actions are those of one who wishes to better themselves educationally, her speech is of one well read, unusual inferences for a female. Her hands bear signs of slight manual labor...her dress and shoes looked as if they'd never before been worn. The callous over her right thumb show that she is in the habit of using an American style saddle when riding. And did you fail to detect her ardent scrutiny of us both? Her words were of her own problems, yet her mind was elsewhere. No, Watson, there is much more to this woman than what can be seen."

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_Sheesh, that woman can talk! lol I think Watsons' in looovee...:)_

_Please review!_


	4. Chapter Three: Moore Hall

_Hey guys! Sorry I'm going so slow this time...computer/car/sleep/editing problems have bombarded me from all side as of late. I'm still not particularly satisfied with this chapter, so if anyone has any suggestions for the last part I would really appreciate it. It all seems rather...rushed, to me. Anyway, I don't usually reply to reviews on the chapters but since I took so long I thought I'd better. _

_**Susicar:** Yes, Miss Moore is indeed singular, isn't she? Even a bit eccentric. :)_

_**MoonlitPuddle:** Well, you know our dear Watson, he's always been one to take note of a trim ankle! I shall do my utmost to 'tread carefully'. hehe_

_**ChewingGum:** My dear heiress is not so very tolerant of suitors. rlol Especially persistent ones. The poor Duke...:)_

_**Igiveup:** Yep, he's a stalker. And most likely a total fruitcake. lol I hope I end up getting all the clues right throughout the next few chapters, so if you spot any discrepancies, please let me know!_

_**music97:** So glad you're enjoying it!_

_**Amelia McDermid:** hehe Yes, she's a bit volatile at times. Glad you like her though!_

**

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**"The Case of the Discerning Heiress"**

**Chapter Three: Moore Hall**

The next day dawned bright and clear, and true to our word, Holmes and I arrived at Moore Hall at precisely ten.

As we stepped from our cab onto the stone pavement, the view literally took my breath away. The hall was enormous. The late Phillip Moore had certainly outdone himself building a home of such grandeur. From the outside it looked to have at least five floors. A large balcony ran around the third, supported by huge, white marble columns. The hall itself, made of a striking red brick, fairly glowed in the brilliant early sunlight. The grounds were immaculately well kept. Luscious green grass swayed in the mornings' breeze for at least a mile round. Behind the building parts of an exquisite garden could be seen. Two large stables stood off to the left, with an expansive adjoining arena. There was no other settlement as far as the eye could see. It was indeed a most beautiful, and ideal place.

Our lovely client standing in the doorway of her home, gave the view an ethereal sense with her modest white dress, and black hair wafting about. When we reached her I could not resist kissing her hand in greeting.

"Miss Moore, you have a lovely home."

She rewarded me with a kind smile. "Thank you Doctor. Mr. Holmes, what is it you wish to see first?"

"I believe our foremost course of action should be to look over any correspondence you have from this Carmichael fellow."

"Unfortunately, I do not still have the correspondence in its entirety. I'm afraid I discarded all the letters until I became concerned about the matter, but I will gladly show you what remains."

We left our hats near the door, and followed her down a wide marble hallway into an exquisitely furnished parlor with a vaulted ceiling. I noted the butlers' conspicuous absence, or any other person in the house at all. It seemed completely deserted except for ourselves.

Handing Holmes a large, unadorned wooden box, Miss Moore excused herself momentarily.

Holmes sat in a chair by the fire, opened the box and began rifling through it. I went to peer over his shoulder at the contents. There were at least twenty letters, written in a very masculine, though legible, hand. Holmes took the first one and 'examined' it. He held it at arms length, then no more than two centimeters from his nose.

"Yes, this man has definitely spent quite a bit of time in Africa." he said.

Then in answer to my puzzled look, "The origin of his cigars is one of the northern regions I should say Most likely Don Lino. Their scent is quite different from the southern. I should like to learn more about Phillip Moore's' past, as well as that of his daughter. While I look over these, you might draw the lady into such conversation, Watson. You seem to have quite a way with the woman."

Before I could give him any reply, Miss Moore returned with a tray of tea and scones. Again, I noticed the lack of hired help. As I debated whether or not I should comment on this, she said, "I presume Doctor, that you are immensely curious as to where my butler have disappeared to, am I correct?"

"Entirely madam."

"I've found it rather foolish to keep one on hand as a visitor at my door is a rare occasion indeed. Truthfully, I have only two household servants, and a dear lady who sometimes does the cooking. I am not so very good in the kitchen, but I attempt to, more often than not, fend for myself."

"How very enterprising of you, Miss Moore."

"Merely conservative, Doctor."

Catching a meaningful look from my friend, I strolled casually over to a large bay window over looking the gardens. "Your gardens are exquisite...how large are they?"

She came to stand at my side. "Oh, I believe they cover no less than an acre or two."

"And how much land do you own?"

"Nearly two hundred acres. My father spent a great part of his life in America, he always said that he could never quite become re-accustomed to such confining spaces. Perhaps at a later date I will show you the extent of my properties. If Mr. Holmes deems it necessary, of course."

"Your father once lived in America, you say?"

"Yes. He left England as a young man to travel to the 'Land of Opportunity' in order to seek his fortune. Though came back to London with rather more than he had expected...my mother. I was told that my grandparents were none too pleased when years later Father returned with a Native American wife that scarcely knew a word of English."

I laughed with her. "Did Mrs. Moore never wish to return to her homeland? I should think it would be a most shocking transition."

"I think she missed her home occasionally, but she was happy here as well. It was actually en route to the states that my parents were both killed. My father had planned it as a surprise trip for their anniversary. Their ship hit a terrible storm and was lost. There were no survivors. I was but seventeen at the time."

Miss Moore turned away from me and gazed out the window. It was quite obvious to me that she and her parents had been exceedingly close. And as far as I knew, they had been her only living relations. With their tragic deaths she had been left utterly alone.

I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I am deeply sorry, Miss Moore."

"Do not be. It was their time, that is all." She turned abruptly. "What else might you need to know, Doctor?"

"Did Phillip Moore indeed make his fortune in America?" Holmes answered suddenly, giving us both quite a start.

"Yes sir, a portion of it at least. He began in the cattle business, but soon changed his profession to that of coal mining. With all the railways being built in America, coal was a near priceless commodity. I currently have coal mines in not only America, but Europe, Africa, and India as well. I must admit that it's quite an expansive undertaking. Occasionally I regret not having been given siblings, or any close relatives, so as not to be the sole carrier of such a burden."

I laughed quietly. "Burden, you say? Why, I know quite a few folk who give anything for such a 'burden'."

"Not if they knew what a weight it truly is. No, if Providence had given them an ounce of sense they should flee. I do not pretend that wealth does not offer a measure of comfort, as I would surely be a fool. Yet it brings with its' small comfort a far greater amount of difficulty. For wealth, incorrectly used, has the capabilities of being a living hell."

Once again Holmes spoke. "Have you used yours' incorrectly then, Miss Moore?"

"Not as of yet, but who can know what the future may bring save the Creator of it. It is the uncertainty of life, which I dread most. 'Your riches are corrupted.', so it is written. My constant fear: have I used my gifts wisely? Do I accomplish my purposes? Shall I weigh worthy when the time comes?"

She walked away from the large window in a rather listless manner, and stood before the fire. My friend rose and stood directly behind her.

"You shall." He said so quietly that I nearly missed the words.

She turned to face him. "Why do you say this?" She asked, her bright eyes searching his for proof of his words.

"You've not failed. You've strived to follow the truth. You've not sought further gain, but given no thought to future deficiency. You have used all you've been given wisely, and have done your utmost to let it ensnare no one. But you cannot stop fools from rushing to their own folly, Miss Moore. It is not of your doing, it is they that make the choice. Holding yourself responsible changes nothing."

"What then sir, am I to do?"

"Naught but that which you do at present. We are given this life to use well; still we can but try. God requires no more."

My friends' words appeared to have a reassuring effect, for she gave a small nod, and turned her face again to the dying flames.

Holmes reverted to the letters, and the matter at hand.

"What we have, is not a simple, infatuated fool, nor a madman, but an intelligent fellow bent on getting what he wants. And I suspect that you, Miss Moore, are not his sole desire."

"I agree with you Mr. Holmes, though I fail to see for what he _is_ seeking." She replied.

"Ah that, my dear lady, requires further information in order to be fully illuminated."

We continued to look through the documents. From them I saw our culprit as a passionate man of great cunning. He was also a fair writer. Though his 'love letters' seemed to lack the authenticity of true devotion. One of the latest ran thus:

_My dear Marian,_

_"I have for some time now been attempting to guide you toward the light. I regret to inform you that time is running out. I grow tired of waiting for you to see reason. I am the only man to whom you can relinquish your hand. I alone have pursued you regardless of the met resistance. For I only, know of the hidden beauty that you possess. I alone know the truth. I know you better than you know yourself, and love you entirely. You are the jewel I long to cherish. You shall acquiesce in the end, I know it. You must cease this ridiculously stubborn refusal! It must end! There can be no other outcome. We fit as the setting does the stone. I await your acceptance. Please tarry no longer, if not for me, then for those poor souls to whom you deal so great an amount of suffering. Farewell, and believe me to be,_

_Yours entirely,  
L. Carmichael"_

The man appeared to me to be mad as a hatter, no matter what Holmes claimed. I told my companions of my findings, but no sooner had the words left my mouth, that a stone the size of a maul crashed through the large bay window, covering us with shards of glass. Instinctively, we went to inspect the object as a package of sorts but attached to it, but Holmes stopped us and stepped forward alone.

On the top of the parcel, in large letters was scrawled,

"DID I NOT WARN YOU?"

Holmes stiffened suddenly, and taking his cane made an abrupt stab at the package. Before I had an opportunity to question his actions, the bundle jerked of it's own volition, and out of it struggled the largest snake I have ever seen, and ever hope to see.

It was jet black and looked to be nearly six feet in length, as it rose upward. The jostling had aroused its' temper.

The snake stood nearly as tall as my friend, its' head flattened out like a saucer, looking as if prepared to strike its' assailants.

"Get back!" Holmes cried suddenly. "It's a spitting cobra!"

As if to confirm his statement, the snake spewed venom, spraying Holmes' back as he ducked away. Tearing off his coat, Holmes hung it on the end of his stick, and held it out to the side, drawing it close to the thing, so as to divide its' attention. The cobra appeared to be slightly confused at this, but focused on the closer foe, spitting all the while. Holmes maneuvered the coat downward, drawing the snake with it. It struck suddenly at the cloth, appearing frustrated that its' attacks warranted no effect.

While the beast was thus distracted, Holmes somehow managed to get behind it, and rapidly stepped down on the head, trapping it against the rug. Yet I knew that he could not maintain this position for long, as the other five or so feet of body were whipping about in an act of fierce defence. The floor was covered with deadly venom.

"Watson, quick!" Holmes suddenly shouted.

I instinctively reached for my revolver only to discover that I'd failed to retrieve it before leaving Baker Street. Not knowing what else to do, I rushed forward and took hold of the wildly thrashing creature, in a near futile attempt to control it. I knew it was only a matter of moments before the slippery beast escaped our feeble hold.

"Holmes! What-"

"A knife, man! A knife!"

Just as I began frantically searching for a nearby weapon, Miss Moore snatched up the knife from the tea tray, knelt and severed the snakes' head from its' body.

It all took place so rapidly, I scarcely had time to think. Recalling the note, I leapt through the shattered window in search of its' author. I was just in time to see a figure on horseback tearing down the drive. Soon both had vanished completely from sight. I returned to the parlor to find all as I'd left it.

Lifting the still wriggling body from the floor, I tossed it outside through the window. I turned to Miss Moore, whose hands, clothes, and even her face was streaked with blood. The poor woman was horribly pale. Taking the hem of her sullied dress, she wiped the knife clean and set it upon the tea tray.

" I hope that you do not think me rude, Mr. Holmes, for not reacting more swiftly. I must admit to being slightly..shaken at first." She said quietly.

"Not at all Miss Moore, you've proved quite efficient." He handed her his handkerchief, motioning to her bloodied hands. She accepted the cloth with a slight smile and put it to good use.

Holmes lifted his coat from the poison soaked floor. He looked at it a moment, then dropped it into the fireplace.

"I'm afraid it cannot be salvaged after so great a drenching. The venom would never fully be removed...it is of no consequence."

Our hostess called a maid to assist her in cleaning the room. Once our offer of assistance was politely refused, Holmes deigned it the appropriate time to make our exit. He turned once more to the lady before leaving.

"Miss Moore, I believe this to be a most serious matter. I do not doubt your capability to look after yourself, but as you live alone, I should prefer that you get one or two of your stable hands to remain inside the house at night, with the bolts in place."

"I do not foolishly claim more strength than I possess, there is wisdom in what you say. I shall comply with your wishes."

He gave her an odd look. "I presumed that you disliked being ordered about."

" I requested your advice sir, and would be quite a fool not to make use of it." Our client answered with a smile.

He gave her a nod of approval, promised to return soon, and we said goodbye.

My friend seemed in a contemplative mood throughout the lengthy journey home, thus not until we were back at Baker Street, and we had both changed into clean attire did I deem it the proper time to speak.

"What does it all mean, Holmes? Surely we are dealing with a lunatic!"

No Watson, the man is far from mad. I believe him to be after something of which we are oblivious."

"And why do you say that? There are plenty of reasons for his determination that are crystal clear, why a hidden one?"

"Throughout those ludicrous and pathetic letters of his, there is a running theme to be found by the observant reader. I have heard the name of Lewis Carmichael before, associated with rather disreputable circles. Therefore, I suspected that there was more to his 'proposal' than that which could be readily seen. The correspondence in its' entirety seems to convey but a single message: 'I know what you have, and will possess it.' I believe Miss Moore would, no doubt, have discerned this herself, had she not been distracted by the distastefulness of the situation. This suitor is quite different. His request is far more obscure than any other. He wants more than her hand in marriage. Nay, even her properties are not his complete object, I think. We must get to the bottom of it, and quickly."

With that he lifted his hat from the rack, but turned back to me before leaving. "How very astute of her to make use of the knife, was it not?"

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_Anyone ever battled a six foot cobra?? I was a little lost at how to do that one. hehe _

_I've battled a five foot chicken snake before...though I'd already severed his head from his body before I touched him...I suppose that doesn't quite count does it??_


	5. Chapter Four: Discoveries

_Hello m'dears!_

_As always I apologize for taking so long, I have utterly NO excuse since this story is already written and all I'm doing really is proof reading it. Sorry! I'll try to be quicker next time... Anyway, hope you enjoy this next chapter! Oh, and do y'all prefer that I answer reviews individually, or here before the chapter?? Jus' wondering._

_Sorry for rambling. Now on with the story!_

_- VHunter_

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**"The Case of the Discerning Heiress"**

**Chapter Four: Discoveries**

The following morning, just as before, it was the mistress of the house who greeted us at the door. Her summery green dress was covered by a rather dusty apron. I couldn't help but wonder what on earth the woman had been doing.

She graciously bid us enter, and led the way down the hall, her luxurious, braided hair swinging like a pendulum as she walked.

"I do apologize for my disheveled appearance, gentlemen. I've been attempted to tidy the attic a bit, this morning. Most everything up there hasn't been so much as touched since the death of my parents. Father was really the only one to ever use it." She said, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face.

"No matter." Holmes said. "In fact I should like to visit this attic, Miss Moore. I believe there might be information of importance to be found in your fathers' belongings."

"Certainly, if you deem it necessary, but I warn you that it is rather musty. Follow me if you please." She took us up several flights of relatively steep stairs.

Never had I seen such an expansive home. The uppermost levels were dark, and showed signs of desertion for many years.

When we finally reached the fifth floor, we were shown down a long corridor, and up a short ladder into a large, somewhat fusty room.

The loft was nearly filled with old trunks, ancient furniture and fixtures, the usual trappings you would expect to find in such a place. So much so that we barely found room to walk. The ceiling was uncomfortably low, so much so that my head brushed it, and Holmes was unable to straighten.

Miss Moore raised a dusty trunk lid and lifted several old books from inside. "These might interest you Dr. Watson, accounts of the Treaty of Ghent in 1814, during my grandfathers' time. I hear you are quite a lover of sensational literature."

I gently took the book from her. I had no idea where she heard such a thing, but she was quite correct.

"Ah, and here is something you might wish to see Mr. Holmes. A page from the first edition of The Times. Printed January of 1785."

He took the old book from her hands. I went to look over his shoulder at what appeared to be a scrapbook of sorts. The aforementioned clipping featured a sketch of the body of a man being pulled from the Thames. The headline above it read:

**'UNKNOWN BODY DISCOVERED IN THAMES. AUTHORITIES SEEM TO HAVE NO LEADS'**

Miss Moore laughed. "It seems the official law enforcement has not undergone much amelioration since, wouldn't you say?"

"Unfortunately not, madam." He replied. "Though, if they had, I might very well find myself sans an occupation. Therefore one must be as grateful for a lack of knowledge as for knowledge itself. Wisdom possessed by all, is naught but common sense."

Upon the latter pages of the book, a few yellowing cameo's and even a photograph or two were to be found. Holmes pointed out an old portrait of a tall, fair man posing with foreign looking woman.

"Your parents?"

"Yes, they were beautiful together were they not?"

I agreed and said, "It seems to me that you favour both your parents equally. You have your fathers' height and eyes, and your mothers' hair and complexion...my, she was lovely."

"Yes. My fathers' parents completely disowned him for marrying an 'American Savage'. Thus I never even met them."

"Are they still living then?"

"No, they died when I was nearly thirteen. We were present for their burials, but I did not know them."

Holmes returned the book, and rummaged through the rest of the trunk. He removed three small books bound together by an aged ribbon.

"These books have been well used, and recently...minimal dust."

"Those are Fathers' journals. I do read them often. They are very special to me since he wrote them as if letters penned to myself. There were four in the set originally. I fear the last was lost at sea."

"I would like to look through them...with your permission, of course." Holmes said.

"Oh, please do. They are fascinating to read."

She continued with her work as we perused our selected literature. The lady had been right in her assumption. The book of her grandfathers' was exceedingly intriguing. I felt it quite a shame that she had not been able to know the man personally. He seemed to be an estimable fellow, as well as an excellent writer. His style made history come alive on the page before you. I was rather disappointed when Holmes brought us back to the matter at hand so swiftly.

"Miss Moore, I wish to be entirely honest with you. I believe that Lewis Carmichael is, in reality, seeking something that you do not know you have, and after reading what little I have in your fathers' journals, I am even more so convinced."

"And what causes you to contemplate such a theory?"

"Carmichael is fairly well-known to me, though I believe that name may very well be fictitious. He is known as an authority on black market jewels. Say for instance, you purchase a rare piece in a conceivably unscrupulous transaction, but wish to know for certain that you've received that for which you paid, Carmichael would be the one to ask. It is how he makes his living. In England alone he has been charged with several thefts, as well as other petty misdemeanors, but nothing definite. He was forced to flee Africa for similar reasons. He robbed an African entourage, nearly killing an official, and made off with 100,000£ in gems. He was caught, thank Heaven, and served twenty years in prison for his crimes. He was released only six months ago."

"Your latest suitor is quite a personality, Miss Moore."

"Yes, in light of this new information I would venture to guess that he is after jewels, but Mr. Holmes, I have none! My mother kept no jewels save this one ring which was a gift from Father."

She gave us her left hand. There, sparkling on a tiny gold band sat an exquisitely cut diamond.

Though it was quite small, and would not catch the eye unless expressly directed, it was magnificent. Holmes seized her hand impulsively, and pulled her toward the stair.

She jerked back with a laugh. "You needn't drag me sir, let me first put these things away before going down. Here, take the ring with you, my hand certainly isn't mandatory."

When he paused at the door she said, "I noticed a gleam of recognition in your eyes when you saw the stone. I presume you wish to go downstairs in order to view it in better lighting conditions...if not just to be able to stand upright."

He laughed softly and we completed our descent.  
Holmes sat himself upon the, now repaired, bay window seat in the parlor, drew out his magnifying glass and studied the ring carefully.

"It is an African diamond. A remarkable stone indeed. Exceedingly rare. Notice it has a slightly bluish tint. Watson, if I am not very much in error, was there not only one blue diamond?"

"I don't recall ever hearing of such a stone, Holmes?"

"Have you forgotten? The only stone that was known to have never caused a single death or robbery. Attempts were plentiful yes, but none succeeded, and no one was even injured. It was known as the most peaceful stone in history. Mostly because before the first anniversary of it's discovery, it was lost."

"You don't mean the Regent Blue? But Holmes, that diamond was enormous! It was said to be one of the largest ever discovered, how could that be-"

"This is but a chip, Watson, of course, but it is part of the Regent Blue, I assure you. I believe we have at last found our missing link."

Just then Miss Moore entered with a tray of tea. I rapidly informed her of Holmes' conclusions. "But that blue diamond was lost twenty years ago, my father gave the ring to my mother on their fifteenth wedding anniversary, in ' 78."

"There were at least three known attempts made to gain possession of the Regent Blue, but they were each miraculously foiled. It was never actually disclosed who owned the mine from whence it came. The owner kept himself well hidden behind third parties. After the blue diamond was unearthed in 1861, an entire new portion of the mine was discovered. It was said that the diamonds were removed by the cart load. But after two robbery attempts on the mine itself, the mine imploded one night, and the unknown owner vanished with every single gem, including the great blue stone. They never located the party responsible for the explosion. It has remained quite a mystery for all these years...until now."

"Until now? Whatever do you mean, Mr. Holmes?"

"It is not exquisitely obvious? Lewis Carmichael, under the guise of yet another false name was known, at the time of that mines' flourishing, to be ' working ' in Africa. No doubt he was one of the criminals who made an attempt on it. So brilliant a jewel authority was bound to have uncovered the identity of the mines' owner. Carmichael was imprisoned not long after the stones' disappearance, hence he could not pursue it. The stone was never taken from it's owner. You have told us that Phillip Moore had holdings in Africa. From his journal entries I noticed he returned to England the same time the diamond vanished. Though he fails to be specific, in one entry he mentions a fear of being 'discovered'. He expresses regret on having ever starting the African 'venture', but was glad because everything was now over and 'buried'. Now we find a chip of the Regent Blue diamond on your finger, in a ring which he gave your mother 'after' the stones' alleged disappearance. Miss Moore, either your father was the only successful thief, or he was the owner of one of the richest diamond mines in Africa. I choose to believe the latter."

Miss Moore sank slowly into the nearest chair. "Then it must be this famous jewel that Lewis Carmichael is after! But I promise you, sir, I do not have it! Neither do I have any of those diamonds. And why does he not demand the jewels outright rather than masking it as so ardent a desire for marriage?"

"No, no. His proposal is quite genuine. I have aforementioned that Carmichael previously served time in prison. He does not wish to find himself deposited there again so swiftly. He has a fairly decent record in England, I believe he prefers to maintain it. He has been attempting to receive the stones 'honestly' by marrying into possession of them. If you did not accept him at once, he thought he could wear you down by sheer persistence and/or quiet threats. After all, who would really arrest a man for vivaciously pursuing a rich, lovely heiress? Seeing as how you took successful defencive counter measures, you have forced him to reevaluate his own strategies, thus our little adventure of yesterday. It is a rather ingenious plan, in its' own way."

"The fiend!" I cried. "But Miss Moore has said she doesn't have them, Holmes?"

"Ah, but she does, she is simply ignorant of their whereabouts. And that is up to us, my friend, to disclose. Somewhere, on these 300 acres, lays a fortune in uncut, African diamonds, as well as possibly the most magnificent stone of all time."

* * *

_BTW: Fusty is actually a word, just in case anyone was wondering if I simply misspelled musty_. :) 


	6. Chapter Five: Country Ride

_Sorry about the rediculously long wait, I've no excuse and should be shot dead. In fact, I have an early appointment with the firing squad first thing in the morning. Adieu all. _

_XOXO_

_-VHunter_**

* * *

**

**The Case of the Discerning Heiress**

**Chapter Five: Country Ride**

Miss Moore suggested that we survey her spacious properties on horseback, in order to get a better idea of where the diamonds might be successfully concealed. Sherlock Holmes readily agreed that this might be helpful. The next evening, our client led us to her stables and requested that three mounts be saddled for our venture. And what beautiful creatures were in her possession. I was given a stocky grey mare. Having dealt with horses before, I had the foresight to bring the gift of a carrot or two along. Needless to say, we thus became fast friends. For my friend was led a tall bay gelding from the stable.

"I know you do not get a good deal of riding practice in London, Mr. Holmes, I hope he will not be too difficult for you."

"Nonsense dear lady," he replied, swinging up with surprising ease." I believe he will do quite nicely."

For the lady herself strode from the barn one of the most beautiful horses I have ever seen. He stood not quite as high as Holmes' mount, but seemed to be full of fire. The moment Miss Moore mounted, his black, muscular body stilled, yet seemed to ripple with anticipation.

"I'm very much afraid that we both adore flying," She said stroking his neck. "You shall have to try and keep up."

"I'm quite ready for the challenge, I believe." I replied, as we set out across the fields.

Rarely have I set eyes on such beautiful countryside as the lands of Miss Moore. Having spent the better part of my life in the city, it was a rare treat to experience such grandeur so close at hand.It stretched for miles. We passed from the fields into a small, but not dense, forest. A slight breeze making it wonderfully cool. Through the trees ran a bubbling little brook, in which I spotted a few trout. My companions were engrossed in a conversation regarding the proper place to secure treasure, but I was far too busy admiring my surroundings to catch much of it.

On the other side of the forest we came upon numerous hills of tall, swaying grass. We halted to let our horses drink in a large lake nearby. The picture perfection of everything, the green of the land, the blue of the water, the brightness of the warm sun, made one truly appreciate the Artist.

"Just past this hill is where my parents are buried."

"Their bodies were found?" I gave Holmes a 'look' about asking such a morbid question but he seemed not to notice.

"Yes, thank God. I would have otherwise still been searching."

"Why not in a cemetery?" I asked.

"It was my fathers' wish to be buried here. He always said, 'This is the land which our Lord saw fit to give me, Marian my dear. And so it will be here that I shall wait for His return.' Mother wished only to be near Father. I too shall be laid to rest here, Doctor. I would have it no other way."

Holmes stirred her from her reverie. "I should very much like to see the graves, Miss Moore, if it would not inconvenience you."

"No, by all means, I would love to show you." Unfortunately just as we reached the top of the hill, my mare began to limp.

"Oh, I am sorry Dr. Watson, shall I fetch you another horse?"

"Oh no, I think it's only a rock. You two continue on, I'll have it out, and catch up with you shortly." I said, dismounting.

She nodded and faced my friend with a hint of a smile. "Shall we give them their head, Mr. Holmes?"

Without another word, they both were off, racing down the hillside. I stooped to relieve my poor horse. She gave me no trouble, and in fact seemed quite eager to have my help, poor girl. It was in fact only a pebble in the shoe, and was easily removed. I stood and watched the end of their little 'race' before remounting. To my great surprise, Holmes was doing very well, I'd no idea he was such a horseman. It looked to be an even match.

What a sight his contester made, with her black braid and the black hair of her steed flying back together. This Carmichael was a fool, I thought. Who would want a bunch of stones rather than so brilliant a jewel as she?

As I shook my head in wonder, a glint of steel caught my eye. I stood upon the hilltop, with my companions at the edge of another small forest, just past a little open field. To the far left of me, lying on the brink of the trees, was a man with a large rifle sighted upon one of the figures below.

My heart quelled within me. I forced myself to think. Their lives might depend upon my action, or lack of it.

I knew at once that there was no way I could not reach them in time.

"Holmes!"

Whipping my revolver from my coat pocket, I shouted repeatedly, firing my gun in the snipers' direction. It was out of range, but would perhaps frighten him. To my dismay, the man remained unmoved, but my efforts aroused Holmes' attention.

He jerked his mount toward me just as a shot from the rifle rang out. The following events seemed to occur in slow motion, so great was my terror.

The great bay reared up with a piercing shriek. Holmes held on, but the horse again tossed his forelegs skyward and this time tumbled backward onto the ground. I heard Miss Moores' cries mingled with my own. When the fall was completed, neither horse nor rider stirred. Without thinking I drove my mount down the hill with reckless speed, directly at the gunman. He whirled his firearm round in preparation for defence, as I pressed onward, praying I could reach him before he fired. I took aim, and our shots sounded in unison.

I saw him clutch his arm as I rushed by, miraculously unharmed. Turning back, I saw the man retreating through trees and knew at once that he could not be mortally wounded. I was torn as to whether I should pursue the offender or hasten to the aid of my companions. I chose the latter.

The sight that rose before me struck my heart cold. The bay lay still in the grass. The black gelding stood listlessly over it's mistress. Miss Moore sat with a look of pure horror upon her face, her arms supporting the bloodied head of my friend. "Dear God please..." I heard her quietly pray.

I could not help but fear the worst as I knelt before them.

"His head struck the tombstone when they fell. Will he be alright, Doctor?"

She said her eyes searching mine for the truth. I felt the wound gently, and checked his pulse before replying.

"His pulse isn't too weak, and there is swelling, which is a good sign. But there may still be a concussion or even internal bleeding, I cannot tell."

Miss Moore closed her eyes once more. I don't know how long we sat there. I was afraid to move Holmes. If the injury was serious, movement would only aggravate it. I considered going for help, but was afraid to leave them for fear of our attackers' return. It might have been ten minutes or two hours, I could not say. I sat watching Miss Moore, her eyes closed tightly, lips moving in silent prayer, when suddenly my friends' eyes fluttered open.

He looked round, and I thought I saw a touch of colour upon his cheek when he found himself in the lap of our client. "Holmes? Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you, Watson, what on earth-" He stopped, wincing. "My, whatever have I done to my head?"

"Mr. Holmes, thank God you're alright! Your horse fell, and you struck your head upon the gravestone. When you didn't move I thought surely we'd lost you."

"Well madame, I observe that your hold upon me seems quite well established."

It was her turn to flush crimson. "But I do thank you for your concern, Miss Moore."

"Do you think you can rise?" she asked.

"I believe so, I'm sure I've quite hindered your circulation, I do apologize."

She laughed in a relieved manner. "Well, I am grateful to see your wit has not been damaged."

"Heaven forbid madame." he replied, as I helped him lean against the tree that overshadowed the graves.

"We should get back Holmes, it's growing dark, and I'm afraid I only managed to slow that lunatic."

"You shot him then? Well done, Watson! I believe you saved my life with your shouting. It was not the horse he intended to shoot, poor animal. You have my thanks."

"How shall we return?" I asked.

"I suppose Mr. Holmes could take my horse. I could walk back, I know the way...even at night and we've come no more than five miles. Perhaps you could send a stable boy-"

"You will do no such thing. What do you think us?" Holmes interrupted. "Besides, I do not believe I could master the horse, my head is swimming so. Your gelding, is he sturdy enough to carry two?"

"Yes, I think he could. If it was not for so very far."

"Excellent. Then perhaps I could impose upon you the task of being my reins?"

"Yes sir, certainly, why did I not think of that."

She fetched the horse and mounted. Assisting Holmes up behind her, I detected his pained expression, as he put his trembling hands upon her shoulders. I was very concerned about his injury. Movement might still be detrimental. I knew at once that I should have to be most watchful.

The going was exceedingly slow. Twice we had to stop for me to assist Miss Moore with her passenger. He would lose consciousness and begin to slip from the saddle. The return trip seemed to be taking ten times longer. We dismounted once out of the trees to rest the horses and gave them and ourselves a much needed drink. The sun relinquished it's grasping hold upon the sky as we sat by the placid lake. I suggested that we continue, but Holmes quietly requested that we rest a minute longer.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Fair to middling, though still slightly vertiginous. I do apologize, Miss Moore, that we were unable to further pursue our investigations. I'm afraid the day has been rather fruitless. Though I do believe we are on the right track."

She looked at him knowingly. "Sir, the investigation is not of the slightest importance to me. Your well being and that of Dr. Watson are worth far more than any tangible matter on this earth."

We sat in silence for several minutes before she continued. "But I fully accept your apology, I know how it irks you to be delayed. Perhaps in a few days-"

"A few days!? Madame, I would have you understand that once you have laid your problem before me, and requested my assistance, the matter is no longer in your hands. I assume full control and responsibility. We shall give the matter our unhindered attention early tomorrow morning and not a moment later."

I sat in full expectation of an outburst of indignation from our client, therefore her outbreak of musical laughter surprised me to say in the least.

"My dear Mr. Holmes, I must admit that is precisely what I expected from you, it is quite reassuring to have the succor of a gentleman who is so assiduous as yourself. I know full that you would not abandon the investigating so readily, I simply want you, and even more so your good colleague, to understand that I am quite satisfied to postpone it for health and safety reasons if, _Dr. Watson_...deems it necessary."

"She is right Holmes, you've sustained quite an injury, I'm afraid tomorrow might be a little to soon-"

"Nonsense!" Holmes interrupted me and stood to his feet, using the tree he'd been leaning against for support. "I am perfectly ready to continue homeward if you two are quite well rested."

Miss Moore gave me an understanding smile as I helped her up. We mounted and were off.

I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief as the lights of the Hall came into view. Despite Holmes insistence that he was fine, I could see that both my companions were as exhausted as I was myself. The last mile seemed longer by far than any of the rest. Nearly losing my seat more than once, I forced myself to stay awake by focusing on the others.

Holmes seemed to be drifting off as well. He suddenly fell forward against Miss Moore's shoulder, causing her and their mount to start. "Oh! Doctor how much longer do you think? I'm afraid my poor horse is ready to collapse."

"Inside an hour certainly." I slowed my mare to a stop. "Should we rest a moment?"

She halted beside me. In the dark I could perceive nothing more than a vague shape, though I could hear movement. "Doctor, I think his wound is bleeding again."

"Here, let me have a look."

I dismounted, and struck a match. Holmes was unconscious again. It took several sips from my flask to revive him. "Holmes? Can you hear me?"

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes Watson, yes. Have we arrived?"

"No sir, but nearly. Your injury has taken to bleeding again, Dr. Watson wished to check it."

He said nothing more as I made a makeshift bandage from mine and Miss Moores' handkerchief. "There that should hold. Ready?"

Miss Moore nodded mutely and we pressed onward.

We finally arrived at the Hall, just as three men from the stables were mounting up to search for us. They helped us into the house and took the two horses to the stables.

Never was I so glad to see any place in my life as that parlor. Miss Moore suggested that we remain at Moore Hall rather than attempt the long journey back to Baker Street. I made a comment of polite refusal, but received an adamant look as she went to get some blankets.

The grandfather clock chimed midnight before we were settled. I upon the sofa, and Holmes sitting before a glowing fire. In his present condition, I thought it best if he did not sleep too deeply. Miss Moore sat across from him, immersed in a some thick book she had brought from the library. She said she would find no sleep tonight after so trying a day.

Her lovely brow was creased in concentration as she perused the pages. Every so often her sharp blue eyes would dart an upward glance at my sleeping friend. I did hope that the poor woman did not feel responsible for the accident.

I briefly wondered if she had not vowed to stay awake in order to maintain a careful vigil. It was my last thought, for the warmth of the fire overtook me and I was lost in a truly exhausted sleep.


	7. Chapter Six: Enlightenment

**The Case of the Discerning Heiress**

**Chapter Six: Enlightenment**

_I stood upon the hill, the light of dawn just breaking upon me. The grey mare, whose reins I held, whinnied softly in a somewhat ominous sense. Turning away from the horse, I gazed outward over the lusciously green lands. In the midst of the fields stood a great oak. Tall and proud, its' golden brown leaves almost gleaming in the sunlight. _

_My attention was drawn toward two slight figures in the distance, at the foot of the august tree. I peered out into the distance, attempting, with little success, to determine their identities._

_A flash of lightning suddenly split the once bright sky. My mount reared in fear and broke away from me, tearing down the hill. I ran after her, for some reason terribly desperate not to be left alone in this strange place._

_In less than a moment, a torrent of icy rain was pouring down about me, giving me a thorough drenching and completely annihilating my efforts to locate the horse. I cupped my hands and shouted for help again and again, yet received no answer. _

_I trudged onward, stretching forth my hands in reach of something, anything that might guide me from this unquenchable darkness. _

_My foot struck against something upon the ground. Something large, yet soft. Wiping the water from my sight, I knelt and turned the body over._

I bolted upright upon the sofa, my heart hammering so loudly within my chest that I feared it should wake my companions.

Forcing myself to breathe evenly, I rose and moved toward the two before the now dying fire.

Miss Moores' book suddenly slipped from her grasp onto the floor as she sat there, her eyes closed, head resting against the side of the straight backed chair. To my relief, my friend was also very much asleep. Holmes breathing looked to be quite even, and I whispered a prayer of thanks that his wound seemed to be healing nicely.

I considered the idea of returning to the sofa as it was hardly after six, but decided against it. There would be no more rest for me this night. Taking my coat from the side table, I slipped quietly out the front door onto the veranda.

It was a lovely morning. The sun has just begun it's daily traverse, lighting the sky was in a brilliant array of colours. The rays of light caught the mornings' dew upon the grass, giving it the sparkle of so many precious gems. I sighed heavily and leaned against the archway.

What on earth had prompted such a nightmare? I could not close my eyes without seeing that cold, soaked body lying there before me. Not even the beauty of the new day could block it out. Though I had awakened before seeing the face of the body, somehow I knew full well that it not one I wished to see.

"Good mornin', sir. What might you be doin' up so early, now?"

I jumped about to see one of Miss Moores' stable hands standing upon the lawn, a well used curry comb in one hand and a cigar stub in the other.

"Good morning. I...I was unable to sleep any longer."

The tall fellow nodded as if in full comprehension. "Aye sir, who could sleep on such a mornin'."

"Indeed."

"Will you be needing anything, sir? Miss Moores' told us to 'elp in anyway that we can."

"Oh no. I was just...getting some fresh air."

"Then I best be gettin' on with me work."

"Yes. Thank you."

The man sauntered off toward the stables, leaving me alone once more with my morbid thoughts. Shaking my head as if to rid myself of such things and made my way back toward the parlour.

As I walked quietly down the hall, the sound of a familiarly strident voice met my ears. When I heard with what earnestness my friend was speaking, I could not help but pause just outside the sitting room doorway.

"Why then do you not do exactly that? Why concern yourself with it, if it pains you so? You cannot stop human beings from wanting what they do not have, it is their very nature.

Covetousness and greed are, unfortunately, part of their being, as I well know."

"Yes, but there is utterly no need to add my somewhat noticeable person to their assemblages of wealth and beauty flaunting. For what purpose? What good can I

possibly do? In such places naught is given but pointless, ear pleasing speech to beings who care for nothing save their own eyes and stomachs. These people know nothing of fear, of pain. And neither do they care. I cannot condone their deliberate ignorance of the suffering that is throughout the world by joining them in their self centered play. Money and pleasure are their only gods. My father had no idea what he had gained when he built this house in which I reside. When his investments prospered and his capital increased, he did not understand what a monster he had unbridled. He often expressed regret for acquiring so much wealth. I would frequently remind him that better he that would make good of it, than he that would do evil. He agreed, but still, it was difficult. Money does far more harm than good in any life regardless of the circumstances. It causes us to hold on to what we do not need, and give our very lives for that which we cannot keep. We fight for the mist, throwing reason to the wind. We lose ourselves in what we call 'reality', forgetting that reality is not at all what we think. We strain so hard to see, that we lose sight of what must be known. I do not wish to be an aid of this disillusioning force. I must avoid those of my kind, and do all I can for those in need, until there is either nothing left to give, or my time is finished."

"But surely, Miss Moore, this supposed task of yours does not require your complete isolation?"

"I...I am quite easily distracted from what is significant, Mr. Holmes, I assure you. When one is amoung they that think themselves the highest, it is indeed more than difficult to remain unpretentious."

"But an entire life alone, in this house? It is most peculiar for a woman, certainly. I am no stranger to a desire for privacy, yet even I would not recommend such an existence. Shut up from all other life."

"All or none. Our Creator does not want our half-hearted attempts, nor our whole-hearted tries. He demands our victory, sir! He gave us naught but all, we must give the same if we are to be complete. I have often coveted those in the streets. They stroll about with heads held high, knowing full well that every penny their possession was earned by the sweat of their brow. They have a dignity that I know nothing of, and never shall. There are times I long to be free of it all. Free to concern myself over no one but myself. Free to go and come as I please. Free to love and be loved. But how selfish are such longings. I could not help the helpless. I could not feed the hungry, nor help the sick and dying. My less than ample funds would go to supply my barest needs, I could do nothing for any other. But I _have_ done some good, Sir. The poor will never listen to the rich, it is a well known fact of life, but they readily listen to one of their own kind. Thus I have my agents. In Whitechapel, Borough High Street, the East End, Southwark. I can do precious little with my two hands alone but I can employ the hands of others. Those in my vast employ seek out the desperate and provide them with the means to start anew. I could relate to you countless tales of redemption, Mr. Holmes. Salvation in which I was used as an instrument. For what more could one such as I request? Therefore I see my affluence as my vocation, my calling if you will. It is not an easy task to shy from human affection for fear of poisoning it. But, by the grace of God, I am quite resigned to it."

"Even so, Miss Moore, I cannot see why a woman such as yourself should-"

"Do you think that you are the only one capable of bearing it? Is that it, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Really Sir, are you _also_ the only one able to 'read' people? No, for I recognized my sentiments exactly in your eyes, the first moment I saw you standing in your doorway. You isolate yourself as well, if not more so. You have no family, no friends, save one who, thank God, will not allow you to shut him out. There are limits Sir, even I understand that. Unfortunately for us, people need people. Therefore we associate only as much as is absolutely necessary. I hide from society in order to keep from being poisoned by it lest I myself partake in the poisoning. You hide from all in order to keep your enemies from harming those from whom you hide. A man with no attachments is a difficult one to discourage. It is easier for me, I think, because there is no family that I am hurting. The parallel is only minutely different. Ours' is an honourable calling, Mr. Holmes, but certainly not a leisurely one. It is no simple thing to suffer alone...I know."

"Miss Moore, you speak on things of which I know nothing."

"You know Mr. Holmes, but please, please know that I do not wish you to speak with me on such things. I know how painful it is to let your guard down once it has so long served you. The doors of the heart groan against use once so long they've lain dormant. You need say nothing. But please, listen to what I say for I speak the truth. I do not condemn you in any way, I commend you, Sir! For you have accepted what God has placed upon you without complaint. You were given a brilliant mind with which you are commissioned to protect the innocent and destroy the guilty. So noble a task receives great opposition, such opposition brings with it danger of pain and deprivation for more than just oneself. Therefore, in such a position, one must protect those one loves by ceasing to love them."

"How could you possibly..."

"I do understand Mr. Holmes. I once had friends, many good friends whom I loved dearly. But as we became adults, my very presence amoung them caused much dissension. I was made an obstacle, a stumbling block for many. Brother turned against brother for my attention or, my _fortune_ to be entirely truthful. Two of my most intimate friends deserted me in a fit of jealousy. I could not bear to be the cause of so much destruction. It would be my undoing, as well as theirs. So I pulled back and away, removing the cause, as well as the effect. When those two brothers shot each other in a duel because one had escorted me when the other deemed it his 'privilege', I made my decision. I will never forget the look in their mothers' eyes as I stood, paying my respects, near her sons' coffins. She knew who was to blame, she knew the reason. It was I, I was the reason she was now childless, the reason her husbands name would now die with him, the reason her sons had behaved like complete fools and turned against one another. I 'was' the pain! It is a weary road, and people do not understand it. They call us cruel and prideful. They scoff at our backs, saying we consider ourselves far too good for the likes of them. They do not understand that all we do is for them, not against them. But they cannot see. They do not understand that I can only help them alone. Just as you can."

"One would believe capitulation a far easier road to follow."

"My dear Mr. Holmes, I admit that I've come quite close to that precarious edge, in my life. My absolute vice is riding that wild, black gelding recklessly over the fields. I feel so free then, so frighteningly free. I urge the horse on faster, until we are flying at a speed of sheer madness. I close my eyes tightly, and feel the sense of release envelope me. I run across water, under forests, through field and marsh alike. We slip and stumble and nearly die a thousand times over. It is _utter_ foolishness to toy with ones' life in such fleeting pleasures. But with every brush with disaster, I hold my breath in anticipation of the final release of death. It is horridly true, sometimes I wish it would kill me."

"Yet it does not."

"But we must fight. We must be stronger than our fears. We were given this life for a purpose not simply to throw it away. No, when we can no longer see our way in this night, we must look above for guidance, not down to our earthly vices. Whenever you are in doubt, Mr. Holmes, know that though you stand alone...you do not."

"Miss Marian-"

"No, you must rest. I will take my leave now as I am quite sure Dr. Watson would not have me exhausting you further."

I heard her rise and set her fallen book upon the side table. Realizing the extent of my somewhat precarious position, I stepped quickly into the library just across the hall that I might not be discovered.

The lady moved to the doorway and turned once more.

"Good night Mr. Holmes, or rather good morning.", she said quietly and departed, passing me in the direction of the foyer.

Rather tentatively I entered the parlour. Holmes had not moved. He remained by the fire, glaring down into the burning coals.

I stood just behind him, afraid to say a word. Had our client angered him with her somewhat bold assumptions? Opposing that which could be seen, what I heard convinced me otherwise.

Holmes sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, seemingly unaware of my presence.

"God, why did you make it so?"

I was dumb with wonder. This woman had not pierced his armour, she not even tried, yet somehow she had reached his soul.

* * *

_Ok, just for GP I have to tell y'all that this was **not** the easiest chapter in the world to right. I just knew that we needed some character development and could only think of one way to do it. So, yeah. And I place ALL blame for my updates being slow upon the shoulders of _KCS_ and_ Protector of the Gray Fortress._ I've been so busy reading their story_ "A Brother Noble"_ that I've not had time to write my own:)_

_P.S. Since this chapter was not very action packed, the next chapter will be up either tomorrow or Tuesday. And trust me it;s a looong one. _

_Please Review!_

_-VHunter_


	8. Chapter Seven: Poetry & Prose

**"The Case of the Discerning Heiress"**

**Chapter Seven: Poetry and Prose**

**  
**

Now that I look back upon the say it is as if what transpired in those early hours had been naught but a dream, conjured in my own mind. Neither Holmes nor Miss Moore made mention of their extraordinary conversation.

By mid-morning the house was up and about their daily routines and Holmes and I were soon summoned to breakfast. Miss Moore came to the table looking quite rested and refreshed, in a pale blue dress that set her eyes off wonderfully.

"Good morning gentlemen. You're in for quite a treat today. As a rule, I make my own meals, but as I have guests, I requested a proper breakfast be served by one of the finest cooks in all of England!" She said, indicating the rather plump, elderly woman setting the table before us, who blushed at the compliment. "I do hope you don't mind Marna, it was rather short notice, I know."

"Lor' no Miss, it's 'igh time I earned my keep 'round 'ere."

Miss Moore thanked her and turned her attention to Holmes and I. "And how are you feeling this morning, Mr. Holmes?"

"Quite perfect, as predicted, and very ready to press on with the matter at hand."

"Now that we've heard personal opinion, Dr. Watson, what is the professional?"

"Speedy, to the point of sometimes miraculous, recovery is a characteristic trait of his. He appears to be perfectly fit. And I say that notwithstanding that cold glare of yours, Holmes. It's quite true, or I would not have said it."

Miss Moore favoured us with a laugh. "You see sir, he is not to be bullied! But here is our delicious looking breakfast. I shall offer a prayer, and disturb your meal no further, gentlemen."

The ham, eggs and buttered toast quite fulfilled all expectations. I felt considerably better after such a delectable meal. Once we were again in the parlour, Miss Moore brought her fathers' diaries down to us. She handed the first to me, the second to Holmes, and kept the final for herself.

"We know this much gentlemen," she began. "Father hid the diamonds to avoid attempts for them. But I do not believe he would have left me no possible way of disclosing their location, in case of-"

"In case of your needing further funds in an emergency. Therefore you believe that a message conveying such delicate information would only be hidden in these, Phillip Moore's journals." Holmes interrupted.

"Quite so, sir."she replied.

"Very astute of you Miss Marian, I quite agree."

"Shall we begin then?" She sat upon the window seat, and commenced reading.

Smiling enigmatically, I turned my attention to the book which had been given to me. For hours we read. I believe I had the most intriguing of the three journals. It covered Phillip Moore's journey to America and back again. I found his writings truly fascinating. They reminded me very much of my own experiences in Afghanistan. The bloody battles with and between hostile Native American tribes. He told of the intolerable cruelty that the natives received from the white men. Even the peaceful tribes has their land and goods taken from them. One entry, that shed rather more light on the background of our illustrious client, told of the day when Phillip Moore had gone hunting, and come upon a distasteful situation that had quite an effect on his life. It ran as follows:

_I had not much luck that day in finding game, and was turning back toward home, when I spotted a man on horseback in the distance. I determined that he too must have been hunting, and had better luck than I, for the held a rather large object in front of his saddle. It looked to be about the size of a deer. I hailed him and rode forward only to find that it was no deer. Most of my friends and fellow claim stakers, do not share my feelings in that the natives of this country should be treated as equals. They see no reason why they should not plunder their homes and villages, taking whatever they please. I've been involved in several heated discussions over the matter. _

_The man before me was carrying a native girl who couldn't have been more than seventeen. She was struggling violently. The man is question was Hendricks, a fellow worker who knew precisely where I stood on this matter. He sat there grinning maliciously at me, in quite a challenging way. I readily accepted. _

_Without a word I dismounted, strode forward and jerked rider, captive and all off the horse. All three of us fell in a heap on the ground. I quickly pushed the girl out of the way and attacked Hendricks before he could get his bearings. It was a fair fight, we were both about the same size, but I was quicker, and was rapidly getting the upper hand when the fiend pulled a gun from his hip. I didn't want to resort to fatal tactics but he gave me no choice. I threw him off, and waited for him to threaten my life. When he did I drew my own weapon and I shot him through the heart. But not before he fired his own revolver, lodging a bullet in my chest. I collapsed onto the ground, fighting for air. I saw the lovely face of the Indian girl leaning over me, just before everything faded to black. _

_I don't know how many days passed in that hideous, wound induced fever. It seemed never to end. I drifted in and out of consciousness. When awake, I longed for the blackness, so great was the pain of my injury. When unconscious, I fought to wake, so haunted were my visions. I saw Hendricks' hate filled eyes vowing revenge. I felt that bullet a thousand times over. _

_When at last the fever left me, I discovered I'd been taken to a Cherokee village by the girl, and nursed back to health. I learned her name was Ama Agasgv, and that during those months of recovery, she hardly left my side. Needless to say, under our current circumstances we became quite fond of each other and after several long months of my recovery, we wished to be wed. Even now I wish those months had never ended. _

_When I was able to walk, she showed me all of her favourite places, and introduced me to all her neighbours and family. I didn't understand half of what they said, but was endeavoring to learn as quickly as possible. The Cherokee village was surrounded by beautifully crafted hills, that offered some protection from the elements, as well as the outside world. Our favourite place was atop those hills at sunset. We watch the sky as God stroked it lovingly with His brush, turning it from the brightest blue, to unearthly oranges and pinks. Those were the best days of my life, when peace and simplicity reigned. But they were short-lived. _

_Six months I had resided in that village when it was attacked by the cavalry. Hendricks' body had been found by a hunting party and the fools immediately assumed Indians had committed the crime. _

_Ama and I were walking down the hill slopes when to our mutual horror we saw at least five hundred soldiers on horseback, tearing down the hillside opposite us. They rode straight into the village, running down anything in their path, and firing their weapons in all directions. The men of the village came forward, prepared to defend their homes...and their families. But it was a massacre. _

_Half of the natives were shot down before the soldiers even reached them. And once they did, the rest were killed. Several soldiers ran through the village setting fire to the dwellings. The Indians finally saw the hopelessness of their situation. Snatching up their children, parents ran for the hills, men and women fled in every direction. _

_I was forced to physically restrain my poor darling, who wanted to run to the aid of her family. I tried to tell her in my broken Cherokee, that she could do nothing for them. But she could not listen to reason, so distraught was she. I finally managed to pull her away, when she saw the entire village was in flames, and that whoever remained, would not escape. We hid in the mountains for two days while the soldiers searched for survivors. In the afternoon of the second day they finally returned to their fort. _

_Ama refused to leave until she'd seen the village once more. She would not be persuaded otherwise. _

_Never have I seen such a desolate sight. Not even here, in mere words do I want to relive the sights my eyes beheld that horrid day. The charred remains of what had been beautiful homes was a terrible sight, the bodies of those left behind, far worse. We walked through that wasteland for hours. I did not want to force Ama to leave until she was ready. I still cannot imagine how hard that day must have been for her. Everything she'd ever known...gone. All in a single day, she'd lost her possessions, her home, and her family. None of them survived. _

_Night had fallen before I was able to coax her away. The cavalry had taken all the livestock, but several horses had broken away. I was able to catch one of these, thank God. Without a horse we would not have been able to reach civilisation, or more importantly, civilisation where we were unknown. _

_We departed that night and made it safely to St. Paul within a fortnight. It was there that I found work, and made a somewhat daring investment in the coal business. With all the trains being built, my business flourished immensely, and your mother and I soon found ourselves quite rich. _

_Two years later, we returned to my homeland when you were only a baby. Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, bringing your mother so far from all she ever knew. But she seems content. She tells me that she is happy. I pray it is true. I would rather be dead than cause her pain. I see her sometimes, out in the fields, and I know she is remembering. Remembering her home...her loss._

_I sometimes pray that she will completely forget those terrible times, but I know that to be impossible. For it is through our trials that we are refined. Through tribulation, God moulds us into what he has called us to be. Never forget that my child. Always know that pain of the flesh leads to perfection of the spirit. Never forget your true meaning. Never settle for who you are, when you know who you are meant to be. Never cease to strive for better. Never lose sight. Stay strong, stay ready, stay focused on what you were born to do. And always remember that though you seem to stand alone, you do not._

Here my journal ended. I sat back in contemplation of that which I had read. It is incredible how much children receive from their parents, whether either party intends it or not. If I had not known for sure that this was Phillip Moore's' journal, I would have guessed it was of his daughters' hand. I glanced across at our client. She was deeply engrossed in the journal of her choice. She sat with her head bent slightly forward, her eyes darting swiftly along the pages, her lips forming the words silently. How she must have respected her father, to study to his every word in this way.

The thought angered me, how _could_ he have left her so alone? What business had he running off to America and leaving her behind? It was ridiculous to me.

Holmes suddenly interrupted my musings. "What have you discovered Watson?"

"Well, though I found the writings positively intriguing, I've read nothing that sheds any light upon where the diamonds could be, I'm afraid."

Holmes turned to our client. "Miss Marian, this second journal establishes your fathers' ability to write poetry in several entries. Do you know of any collection of such works?"

"I believe there might be a book of his poems, somewhere."

"Miss Moore, I would love to have another look at that scrapbook, if you please?" I asked.

"Certainly Doctor, I should be glad to fetch it for you. That poem book is surely somewhere in the loft, I'll see if I can't locate it for you, Mr. Holmes."

"Here, allow me madam, I could use the exercise." Holmes said, rushing past her before she could argue.

"Perhaps I should have stopped him, his injury..." I said more to myself than the lady.

"He will be fine Doctor, you must let him take some 'risks' you know," She said with a laugh. "That is, after all, of what life is made."

"Indeed, but it I give him any freedom he'll stretch it to the last degree, blast him."

"Yes...you are correct in that." I turned to face her, detecting the emotion in her voice. There was a sad look in her eyes that made me feel quite powerless to help her. "He is a good man, sir. You are as fortunate to have him as a friend as he is to have you. You are a great comfort to know, Dr. Watson."

"And you, Miss Moore, are an incredibly insightful woman."

She blushed and thanked me as I took her hand. "I want you to know-"

Thanks to Providence, and an unconventional ladder, I was saved from making a complete fool of myself by a tremendous crash overhead. Miss Moore and I rushed in unison up the stairs, only to run head on into Holmes, causing the large books he held to tumble to the floor. "My dear friends, wherever is the fire?"

"Holmes! What was that noise? We though you'd fallen."

"Really my dear fellow, I am hardly so brittle. It seems our friend Mr. Carmichael devised our idea of seeking answers in the attic. He must be keeping a closer watch on us than I'd first suspected."

"You mean he was up there? In my house?" For the first time, since we'd begun this ordeal, I saw a flicker of fear in her beautiful eyes.

"I'm afraid so. I thought earlier that I heard some rather unnatural sounds coming from the attic. To be sure, I could not then permit you to fetch the books, still I must know for certain what was about, thus I went myself. Having heard my footsteps upon the stair, he was just making his exit out of the skylight. The crash you heard was him kicking his makeshift ladder at me on his way out. Thankfully, he was interrupted before he could make off with anything. As the skylight has the ability to be bolted from the inside, I saw that it was secure before leaving."

"Confound you Holmes, why didn't you tell us!? You could have been killed! And now the man has eluded us once again! Why on earth would you-"

"Mr. Holmes wanted him to escape." Miss Moore interrupted.

"What the devil for?"

She seemed to study Holmes a moment before responding. "Because...because if he was to be caught now, we would have no charges to bring against him. He would go free, and become even more dangerous then before."

"No charges? No charges you say? What about the shooting of your poor horse? Not to mention the attempted murder of myself once and Holmes twice!"

Holmes shook his head. "We have no proof that it was Carmichael behind those attacks, Watson. It would be futile to take him now. That is our greatest obstacle, I fear. We must prevent him from carrying out his plans, yet we can take no permanent action against him until he does just that."

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Holmes and I departed for Baker Street within the hour, and returned just in time for Mrs. Hudson to serve us a delicious dinner. Which Holmes, of course, declined. Without so much as a word to our longsuffering landlady, he shut himself up in his bedroom with naught but his pipe and Phillip Moore's' poetry.

Hence, I had my dinner alone and then retired to my chair by the fire with the ancient scrapbook. Unfortunately, the contents were mostly only bits of old London history, and did not rouse my interest as the journals had.

Just as I began to drift off to sleep, Sherlock Holmes stormed from his bedroom, like a bull from the gate.

"Curse this infernal poetry!" He cried, tossing the book into his chair.

So startled was I at this outburst that the book in my lap slid to the floor, spilling it's contents. My friend paced rapidly back and forth in our small quarters, puffing at his pipe like a locomotive.

"What's the matter, Holmes?"

He deigned my question not worthy of an answer and only continued to pace. After nearly an hour of such behaviour I could stand it no longer. "Really Holmes, you shall wear a hole in the carpet!"

"No Watson, it must be there! I was so certain, I _am _so certain! The clue lies in the poetry. It _is_ there! It has to be. Perhaps there are-" He stopped abruptly before the open scrapbook and it's haphazardly scattered pages.

Jerking it up suddenly, my friend began jumping about like a madman. "Watson, you are indeed brilliant! This is it, man! This is it!"

I rose abruptly. "Perhaps I should check your head again, Holmes, for goodness sake, sit down before you hurt yourself!"

"Oh nonsense Watson! Listen! Listen to this:

_To my darling daughter,  
For when I am gone,  
May in your heart forever,  
Our memory live on. _

In times of need, of care,  
Look above,  
For Love,  
But down for air.

For your heavenly Father,  
Fulfills every need,  
Still, remember your earthly father,  
In word and deed.

When troubles arise,  
Send your prayers to the skies,  
But your thoughts to the ground,  
For lying with death false life is found.

Recall this to mind,  
The true treasure is only now mine,  
But on earth the only key,  
To my heart was thee.

Your loving father,  
Phillip Moore  
  
"But Holmes, this means-" 

I was cut off as a rock crashed through our window with a deafening shatter. Holmes snatched up the stone from among the shards of glass and tore the note from it. It read:

**MY THANKS FOR THE USEFUL INFORMATION. DO NOT INTERFERE IF YOU WISH THE WOMAN UNHARMED.**

Holmes and I looked up at each other, sharing the same thought.

"Dear God!" Holmes whispered and dashed out the door.

I grabbed my hat and scarcely managed to board the cab as my friend offered the driver 50£ if he could get us to Moore Hall in sixty minutes. I'd never seen Holmes in such a state. But I shared his concern.

Lewis Carmichael now knew prescisely where the diamonds were hidden. And he also knew that the only one who could get them was Marian Moore.

* * *

_Ok, I hope that was a little more interesting than the last one. Did anyone think that whole part with Phillip Moore was unnecessary? I wasn't sure of that might not be too much background. _

_I promise not to take to long with the next! (Heh, you know me.:)_

_Please review!_

_-VHunter_


	9. Chapter Eight: Sacrifices Part One

**"The Case Of The Discerning Heiress"**

**Chapter Eight: Sacrifices - Part One**

Never in my long association with Sherlock Holmes did we endure a more strenuous journey. It seemed for days that we fairly flew past houses and fields at break-neck speed in that cab. And with my friend in the state that he was, I did not dare utter a single word.

He would drum fingers on the seat, then reach for his matches and attempt to light his pipe just before realising that he'd left both pipe and matches behind, in his haste. He would yell at the driver to go faster, then worry me further by muttering to himself, and finally repeat the entire process. Yet I understood and shared his concern all to well. If Lewis Carmichael reached our client before we did, all might very well be lost. As darkness began to fall over the rapidly passing scenery, I whispered a quick prayer for Marian Moore.

The moment we reached the Hall gates, Holmes leaped from the cab almost before it halted. Flinging his pocketbook to the driver, he ordered him to call at our flat on the morrow if he desired the remainder of his fee. I ignored the ranting cabby, and dashed down the stone walkway after my friends rapidly vanishing form.

When I caught up to him, he stood with his head resting on the door frame of our clients' home. The great oak wood door lay smashed into splinters at our feet. Holmes roughly smacked the brick wall with his palm.

"We are too late Watson!...I am too late."

"What now, Holmes? Shall we go for the police?"

"Did you not read the message? No, Carmichael is no fool, he did not expect us to acquiesce to his instructions. I'll wager he awaits our arrival as we speak."

"What shall we do then, if he holds Miss Moore?"

"I shall not disappoint him. Quickly now, Watson, listen and do exactly as I tell you, for her very life may depend upon it. We have no choice but to confront our adversary. But there is no need to do so impulsively. He need not know that you are with me. Take the mare from the stable and cut through the little forest along the road so that you may come up behind the graves. And then...use your own good judgement. Perhaps the element of surprise will be our way out of this nightmare."

He allowed me no opportunity for argument, but ran to the stables. Without another word, I located my grey mare of the day before and finished saddling her just as Holmes rode out himself. The last I saw of my friend was he and Miss Moores' black gelding racing towards the field before they disappeared into the inky blackness of the moonless night.

I mounted and guided my horse back to the main road. I did not let her into a full gallop for fear of stumbling or attracting unwanted attention. Though the slow pace was maddening, I knew I could be of no help to anyone if in need of assistance myself.

As I rode on, I attempted to dispense with the feeling of apprehension that had fallen upon me. What were we riding into? What could we do against this madman with him having the upper hand? It seemed to me our hands were tied. If Carmichael did indeed hold our client we would have no choice but to comply with his wishes, no matter how outrageous they might be.

I also held some misgivings about have been separated from Holmes. In such dangerous situations I knew him to be impetuous and inconsiderate of his own personal safety. Without myself there to watch his back I could only hope and pray he retained some small amount of self preservation.

The sudden stiffening of my mare jolted my mind back to the present. She halted without warning and pawed slightly at the ground, as if attempting to let me know that we'd reached the edge of the forest.

I dismounted, tied the mare off to the nearest branch, and proceeded on foot into the trees. Stumbling over a hidden root, I cursed the darkness under my breath and prayed that my instincts alone could lead me back to the graves of Mr & Mrs Moore as there was utterly no light to guide me.

After another half hour of wandering about, I was nearly ready to give up when the sound of voices caught my attention. I could not discern the words being spoken, but one of the voices was decidedly male.

I crept forward, taking care not to desert the cover of the trees, and peered out into the clearing. The scene that arose before my eyes filled me with a sudden horror, as well as despair. I could truly see no way out of this situation.

Lewis Carmichael was, just as Holmes had predicted, waiting behind the tombstones, holding Miss Moore with a gun to her back. She had obviously been snatched from her bed, for she wore only a nightdress and black velvet dressing gown. My physicians' eyes quickly scanned for injuries but she seemed unharmed and relatively calm, much to my relief.

Lewis Carmichael was a large fellow, who's reputation as an authority on gems seemed quite believable upon sight of him. His very face seemed to be cut from stone.

Next to the great oak that overshadowed the graves, sat a large bag and a long handled spade of some sort. On a limb above the two, a great lantern swung, casting the pair in an eerie light. And reflected the barrel of his revolver quite precisely.

I immediately wondered where on earth Holmes could be. There was no possible way I would be able to extricate our client from this on my own. At the speed he'd ridden, I knew Holmes must have arrived before myself, and was only awaiting my arrival before making an appearance. But where was he now?

My pleadings to Providence were soon answered by the sound of a well known voice rising from the darkness.

"Mr. Carmichael, I presume."

Holmes stepped slowly into the circle of light, with his hands in plain view so as not to startle the infamous jewel thief. I was overcome with a sense of urgent confusion and dread. What was I to do? Holmes had given me no instructions whatsoever. _"...use your own good judgement."_ He has said. Yet I could see nothing to do nothing but wait. One false move could bring about disastrous results.

"If it isn't Mr. Sherlock Holmes, so nice of you to join us. Though I must say you rather took your time at it." Carmicheal called to my friend with a voice as as hard and flint like as his features.

"Get to the point, Mr Carmichael, what is it you want from us?"

"You're a fool if you do not already know that. You have greatly hindered my plans, sir. Had you not interfered, this dear lady would have eventually given in to my proposal. We could have been quite happily wed, and saved all of us from this terribly _unpleasant_ situation. Yet, thanks to you I have been reduced to this...tactless means of persuasion."

Holmes moved a few steps closer. "They are not there."

"Really sir, you insult my memory. It was not much over an hour ago that you discovered that enlightening little poem, which was immediately sent to me."

Keeping the gun levelled at Miss Moore with one hand, Carmichael lifted the spade from the ground and threw it toward my friend.

"Get them."

"I tell you that they are not where you believe them to be."

"You are a very poor liar, Holmes. Begin now, or I'm afraid I shall have to shoot her."

Holmes regarded him a moment more before taking the tool in hand and making use of it. A small gasp escaped Miss Moores' lips, as he began to remove the earth from over her fathers' grave. All lapsed into absolute silence for at least half an hour before the coffin lid was scraped.

Holmes hesitated once more. "You will not find that which you seek."

"Open it."

Holmes looked to Miss Moore. "Do not remember him in this way."

She nodded and turned her face away.

With the horrid groaning sound of ancient wood, the lid of the coffin slid back and fell from its' resting place of so many years...

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_Mean and cruel, am I not? hehe Actually, I really hated to cut this right here, I just didn't want to wait any longer to post at least **something**. So, it was either half the chapter or a longer wait. Hope y'all agree with my decision. _

_Once more, I must admit to being horrid at more suspenseful type sequences, so I do apologize for any strangeness. :) My life is like 'wow' hectic presently, so anything of mine is liable to be half-baked. :)_

_Ok, I'll quite whining and get busy on Part Two. Thanks for reading & please review!_

_-V_


	10. Chapter Eight: Sacrifices Part Two

**"The Case Of The Discerning Heiress"**

**Chapter Eight: Sacrifices - Part Two**

With the horrid groaning sound of ancient wood, the lid of the coffin slid back and fell from its' resting place of so many years. Holmes knelt to inspect the contents of the old coffin, his features set in a cold, emotionless mask. "Naught lies here but the bones of a great man."

"You lie, get back."

Carmichael motioned Holmes away from the coffin and dragged Miss Moore to where he could see the inside of the grave. The woman kept her eyes tightly closed, uttering not a sound.

With a growl of rage Carmichael moved back toward the tree, gesturing somewhat wildly with his weapon. "Dig up the other then."

"To what end?" Holmes demanded with another step forward.

Carmichael pressed the revolver into Miss Moore's side, causing her to breath in sharply. "Do it!"

Holmes complied, yet the same result was derived from this course of action. Carmichael swore loudly and ordered Holmes to find the diamonds at once.

"Where would you have me look? I know nothing of Phillip Moores' character or habits. You cannot expect me to disclose the whereabouts of the jewels with so little to go on." Holmes replied calmly as he replaced the coffin lid over the remains of our clients' mother.

The man looked to Miss Moore."Yes, but you knew him well. Where are they madame?"

"I do not know, if I did I would give them to you, that this horrible ordeal might end." She replied, her slightly trembling.

Carmichael paused, he seemed to be assessing the situation. He pulled the hammer of his weapon back, and directed it at Holmes. "Do you still not know Miss Moore?"

"I swear to you, that I do not!"

Carmichael sighed, as if defeated. "Then we can do nothing but be wed, Miss Moore. And continue our ardent searching after. When we may do so in the light of day, as all shall be proper...and quite legal. I tried to make this easier on you, but you refuse to cooperate."

Holmes was instantly out of the grave. "You-"

"Stand back sir, unless you wish me a widower before my time."

Miss Moore shook her head slowly. "What delusion are you possessed by, to think that I would marry you? Would that those cursed stones had never been discovered! Shoot me if you must, in the face of such a prospect, my life is nothing."

Carmichael levelled the barrel at my friends' chest. "And his life? What is that?"

She stood mute, but he read her expression, as did I.

Carmichael smiled, knowing full well that he had one. "Allow me to inform you both on what is to be. According to my careful calculations, once inside that nicely large coffin, Holmes, you will survive at least one hour, if you use the oxygen sparingly that is. That will give us an ample amount of time, Miss Moore, to be married, and for me to return and release your detective before...well, before any drastic consequences arise from the unfortunate situation. Is this agreeable to you my dear?"

Holmes and Miss Moore seemed to be conversing through eyes alone. I could not determine what was being said, but a decision must have been at last reached.

"I accept, Mr. Carmichael." Miss Moore uttered in a breathless whisper.

"Good then, shall we proceed?"

"No." Holmes said quietly. "I will not be used to destroy her. Shoot me if you will." He advanced toward them.

"Do you wish her dead?"

"You will get nothing if you kill her, I am the only expendable piece in this game."

"True." Carmichael took aim. "Very well then, have it as you will."

I could not say what happened first, so rapidly did it all occur. Carmichael fired his revolver as Holmes leaped at him. Miss Moore was somehow thrown backward. I heard her cry out as she fell into her mothers' grave. Both men fell to the ground.

"Holmes!" I shouted, running from my shelter. Carmichael was up first. He turned and fired at me. I fell upon my face, checking for a wound. Thankfully he had somehow missed, but now I had deserted my trees and was left with no cover whatsoever.

Holmes suddenly grabbed him from behind, pulling the man to the ground once more. They were instantly locked in a deadly struggle for the weapon, and though Carmichael held the advantage of size, I knew Holmes was much more agile.

Carmicheal flung Holmes back just as I made a sudden move forward, and fired upon me. The bullet grazed my cheek as I threw myself to the ground. I lay still and waited for the possibility of being shot before I could reach them, to be removed. If _only _Holmes could gain control of the gun!

Somehow, Miss Moore managed to climb out of the grave. She tried to stand, but crumpled to the ground, having obviously injured her ankle in the fall. I could not hold back a gasp at the sight of the dark red stain covering the sleeve of her dressing gown, though I could not see from whence it came.

Carmichael once again got the upper hand in their struggle and threw Holmes to the ground, wrapping one enormous hand around his throat. Holmes slowed his intent with a knee to the stomach, nearly knocking the gun from his other hand. I was instantly up from the ground.

"Stay away Doctor, I'll shoot him!" He squeezed the trigger and the gun went off in an inconsequential direction. I halted, unsure of how to proceed. His next shot might not miss. Miss Moore made a sudden attempt at the weapon herself. In the three way struggle, the gun fired into the dirt near Holmes' head. I crept forward, praying that with the distraction I might go unnoticed. My prayers were answered for Carmichael could not fight them both. He shoved the weapon at Miss Moore, knocking her against the backwards and barely managed to maintain the hold on his opponent. With the immediate threat removed, I saw my chance. I ran the last five yards, brandished my own revolver, and ended this madness by sending two rounds into the fiends' brain with no more compunction than if I had ridded the world of a rabid animal.

Holmes threw the lifeless body off, and moved to where Miss Moore had fallen, turning her over gently. "Miss Marian?" He whispered, forgetting to conceal the fear in his voice.

"I'm alright." She gasped. "Just dazed."

"Thank God...and your hand?" I then saw what had been the source of all the blood. Her hand was horribly mangled.

The poor woman turned terribly pale at the sight of her own injury. "When he threatened to shoot, and you didn't stop, I...I couldn't...I could not just stand there."

"You should have let him kill me, fool that I am...Watson please!"

I knelt beside them, and took her bloodied hand in mine. "Amazingly enough, I believe you still have all of your fingers. It seems the bullet went straight through...though it left much damage in it's wake. I do not think you will be able to use it properly again."

"Well, it's only my left hand anyway." She said with a weary smile.

"I saw you fall into the...the cavity." I said, checking over her ankle." I don't think it's broken, only a bad sprain."

"Are you both unharmed?" she asked.

"Quite." Holmes replied quickly. "Can you stand?"

"I'll try." She did, but fell back down, biting her lip in pain. Holmes stood, and took charge of the situation.

"Watson, my gelding has run away. Fetch your horse and get back to the house as quick as possible, and bring us a cart, will you? We'll meet you halfway." He proceeded to lift Marian Moore from the ground, and carried her down the hill. Leaving the dead to bury the dead.

I made my way back to the grey mare and rode homeward as fast as was humanly possible, thanking God that this ordeal was finally over.

* * *

_Me really no likely this chapter...I could just see it all in my head, but it refused to come out right on paper...er...on the computer screen. I would've worked on it more, but then it might've been weeks till I posted...sniff..._

_If anyone has some good suggestions I'm plenty willing to hear. The next one will be much better I swear by my eye!_

_-V_


	11. Authors Note The Second

_You're eyes do NOT deceive you! It is I! The wayward author! _

_Yes indeed, I have updated this poor little forgotten story. It fact, I've finished it...completely. There were only two chapters left so it's all done now. _

_But before you go rushing off, allow me to say a few words. Yes, I said few._

_I rather chickened out on the end of this tale because I knew I was going to be creamed for it. heh. No really, I probably will. I wrote it sometime ago, and the ending is a bit uncanonical, but hey. Dear ACD gave us free reign, so I'm just exercising my rights! haha And honestly, it CANNOT be any worse than turning Holmes into a dog, or cat, or chicken, or making him a vampire or werewolf, or whatever. hehe It's all in good fun. So I got over myself and posted the ending. And personally, I rather like it myself, I must admit. So here you go. Hope you like! If not, well...just keep going and pretend you never saw it. :)_

_And MANY thanks to _Sapphire Warrioress_ whose kind review gave me the extra boost needed to finish what I started! :)_

_Tootles,_

_VHunter_


	12. Chapter Nine: And So

**The Case Of The Discerning Heiress**

**Chapter Nine: And So**

THE incredibly beautiful sunrise made one almost forget the horrors of the night. I'd bandaged Miss Moores' hand and gave her something to help her sleep. I returned to the parlor to find Holmes leaning against the mantle, staring into the flames.

"How is she?" he asked without turning.

"Sleeping. I did what I could for her poor hand, I'm just so glad this whole ordeal is over...you should rest Holmes, it's been a trying night." He ignored me and walked over to the window. "Holmes-"

"When will she wake?"

I sighed deeply. "Certainly not before noon...why?"

He turned to me with a tired yet contented smile. "No particular reason. I only wanted to know when I might show her the diamonds her father so cleverly concealed for so many years."

"You have them!"

"No, but I have determined their location."

"How? When?"

"Ah, my friend, you know my methods. I will reveal all at the proper time."

I laughed and settled myself upon the sofa. "Have your own way, Holmes. I think I'll get some much needed rest, while you decide just when the 'proper time' will be."

"You have certainly earned it my friend...thank you, Watson."

"Your quite welcome, Holmes."

He turned back to the window, and I allowed myself to drift off. I don't know how long I slept, at least several hours. Though it seemed like much longer as I'd not had a decent nights' rest in some time. When I awoke, Holmes was no longer there. "Probably counting diamonds." I said to myself.

I went quietly upstairs to check on my patient, hoping fervently that she was still resting. A surprising sight met my eyes when I reached her bedroom door. Miss Moore lay sleeping peacefully, as Sherlock Holmes stood over her, a silent watcher. He said nothing, only watched her sleep. Never had I seen such an expression on his face. It is impossible to explain. He brushed his fingertips across the bandage on her hand.

"Is quisnam diligo ultum, sino magis." He whispered softly, though I did not know what the word meant.

She stirred slightly but did not wake. He leaned forward, as if to ascertain that she was still breathing, but did not disturb her. With a sudden, overwhelming feeling that I was spying, I fell back against the door, then rushed quickly down the stairs and out of the house. Feeling no end of guilt for watching my friend like I had. I walked through the stables and made sure our horses had been seen to. I then made my way to the expansive garden. But even the loveliness of the flowers and trees could not shake my sense of overwhelming. I walked up and down the rows, lost in thought, losing track of the time. The more I thought, the deeper my confusion grew. Could it be that my friend, the cold, calculating machine was capable...it was unthinkable. As I rounded a corner for the umpteenth time, I saw her before me. Marian Moore sat by a small pond watching the water ripple in the breeze. I thought perhaps she might be praying as her eyes her closed, her heard tilted skyward. I did not move for fear of startling her.

"Come and join me, Doctor. The evening is far to exquisite to spend in doors." I approached slowly, overcome with almost a, 'fear' of this woman.

"Where is Holmes?" My question much have come across as an accusation, for she glanced strangely at me.

"I did not see him as I came out." She breathed in deeply. "I simply could not bear to stay in and miss this hour...my father always brought me here, to this very spot, in the evenings. We would sit on this bench. And he would say, 'You see Marian, the moment that golden sun dips behind those trees, God silences all the world, that we might hear His voice. Listen closely, my dear, or you shall miss it.' " She closed her eyes. "Listen Doctor, can you hear Him?"

Her sincerity sent chills down my spine. I listened in silence to the perfect stillness with her, and felt a strange calm wash over me. The blazing sun hung halfway over the horizon, bathing the land before us in brilliant hues of pink and orange. Slowly, almost too slowly to even notice, the great orb of fire sunk back behind the forest, gently relinquishing it's kingdom to the cold moon high above. It seemed like only a moment. It may have been an hours' time. I suddenly felt the hand of my companion upon my shoulder.

"Come now, the moment has passed."

I offered her my arm, as she took a large walking stick that was lying beside her in the other hand and we walked through the garden together. I longed to tell her of my contemplations of earlier, but was afraid of what she might think of Holmes.

The lady gave a mock sigh of exasperation. "Please Dr. Watson, do share what weighs so heavily upon your mind before you positively go mad with suppression."

I laughed with her. It felt so good to laugh again. "However do you do it, Miss Moore?"

"I can feel the emotions of others just as I feel my own. I think it comes from spending so much time alone. One learns to see inward rather than outward, for there is nothing outward to be seen. Thus when the outward of another is made known, it is overlooked for the inward."

"My dear lady, I believe you could have rivaled Plato with your philosophy! You words are filled with such...understanding. Never have I heard anyone talk such as you do."

"Ah, but you've never met anyone such as I, sir!" She said with another laugh. "I do not say that with any boastful intent, I assure you. I have been blessed with insight. You see Doctor, our life here, is but a mist in the wind. We are here, on this earth, only for an instant. Why then, do we worry so about the mist? How often do you see men and woman chasing a wisp of fog, attempting to contain it? Never! Who wishes to preserve so inconsequential a thing? None save a madman surely! Why then, place we so great a love upon this fog of life? Life is only a tool, a tool with a purpose I grant you, but a simple tool none the less. A means to an end. A swaying, creaking bridge that must be crossed in order to reach a better life. One that will last."

Miss Moore removed her hand from my arm and walked on to a cluster of rose bushes, delicately touching the petals of the largest flower before continuing.

"We are meant to spend the little time we have, accomplishing the tasks which we are given by our Creator. Why then, do we spend it doing naught but preserving, and clinging to the bridge? How foolish we must look to our Father, running about chasing fog clouds! No, there is so much more to be done. We were each given a task, a duty, a..purpose. We must stop pursuing trivialities and do that for which we were born. We are made to glorify our Maker in showing others how we trust Him, by letting go of the bridge. And helping them let go as well. Only by releasing that which we long for, will we be brough closer to the truth."

I stared in awe at the woman before me. Never had I known anyone with such a devotion to truth. Save one. "My friend was right you know."

She gave me a puzzled look. "In what way?"

"There _is_ much more to you than can be seen."

With a slight smile she blushed and turned her face away from me.

"I must be completely honest with you, Miss Moore."

"If you must."

I paused to gather my courage before plunging onward. "I think, that is, I believe Holmes...that...he has come to care for you a great deal."

She did not turn to face me at this revelation of mine, but continued to inspect the flowers. Her silence frightened me. Was this unwelcome news? Was it news at all?

"So he does," she finally said quietly. "I feared as much."

"Feared?"

She looked at me with such an immense sadness in her eyes, that I my heart grew cold within me. "It will only bring him pain. Yet I cannot regret it entirely. For through our suffering we shall both be made complete."

Once again, she answered my thoughts. "Yes Doctor. It is true. He means a great deal to me as well...and so, that is that."

She released the rose from her grasp and began limping back toward the house. "But Miss Moore, will you not tell him?"

She halted, but did not turn, seeming somewhat confused. "Tell him?"

I became suddenly angry at this false ignorance. "Madam, perhaps I misunderstood you meaning, but did you not just admit to me that you love my friend?"

"I did. And never again will such an admission cross my lips."

"But Miss Moore, surely you should inform him of this! Here, all this time, I've believed my friend to be incapable of love-"

"Incapable? Doctor, how little you know of him...Sherlock Holmes is incapable of nothing."

"So I now see! And you say that you will hide the truth from him? That is entirely unfair! How could you possibly-"

"What would you have me do, sir?"

She turned on me swiftly, her blue eyes sparking fire. "You would have me pierce his armour? You would have me force him to face the reality that he is human and prone to their weaknesses? You would have me destroy him! Piece by piece until there was nothing left but a shadow of who he was meant to be! You would have me kill him! What...rose-tinted glass do you look through, Doctor? For the sake of your understanding, allow me to elaborate. Say, in a moment of frailty, I confessed the truth to him and played upon his debility. Say, we were married. How long do you truly believe such a thing could last? How long would it be, Doctor, before in the course of his duties my own life would be used against him? How could I force him to make such a choice? And if he indeed made the right one and my life was taken, what then? Where does that leave where does that leave your friend? Do you not know that he would feel responsible? In his utter anguish would he not submit to his own vice and destroy himself? Or perhaps you should know my own selfish fear, of returning home to find my...husband murdered at the hands of some fool! Whether it be borne from the cause of his work or my wealth, I would surely kill myself. I could not bear to live knowing that I had annihilated all he worked so hard to do. No, we are not incapable of love, Doctor, it is our weakness! To love him is to tempt disaster! Susceptible as we are, we would sacrifice our souls for that which is so fleeting. Oh, Doctor, how blind you must be!"

The woman had worked herself into a state of madness. She limped to and fro, muttering incoherently while tearing at her bandaged hand. I begged her to calm herself, strenuously apologizing for my idiocy, but she bid me be silent, and continued her frenzied pacing.

She was, so right. And I so wrong. I could not understand how I had not seen before. I felt like an complete cad for even mentioning the situation to her at all. Had I paid better attention I should have foreseen such consequences myself. For even I myself had been faced with some dangers merely because of my association with Sherlock Holmes. Dangers that I should never have been made to face had I not known him. He was a perilous man to those around him, whether or not it was his intention. Therefore he had done his utmost to involve himself with no one and nothing. For their benefit not his own. And only now had I been able to see it, though it was just before me all the time. I sighed heavily and returned to the bench before the little pond. All was quiet and dark now save for the moon's reflection upon the water.

"Oh God..." I breathed, lowered my head into my hands. "How could I have been such a fool..."

A gentle touch upon my arm alerted me to anothers' presence. It was our client. She took the seat aside me, a gentle, if somewhat weary smile over her face.

"I beg you to forgive me, sir. To cause you pain was by no means my intent. Yet I had to make my position clear to you, if somewhat untactfully."

"It is I who must apologise, Miss Moore."

She shook her head. "No, no you've done nothing wrong. It is only that...creatures, created so passionate as myself...and Mr. Holmes, must pour ourselves into our destinies, our purposes. If we look either to the right, or to the left, we are lost. If we do not stand firm, we do not stand at all. We must struggle our entire lives to maintain our sanity. For we live with all our might, believe with all our being, and love with all our soul. I would not rend our souls for but one moment of happiness. We were made to sacrifice all. Thus we must hold nothing that cannot be released."

We both rose and the woman turned back toward the path that led up to the house.

"But, Miss Moore, shall he then, never know the truth?"

She halted momentarily. "Believe me Doctor, when I say that he knows...he has always known."


	13. Chapter Ten: Diamonds

**The Case Of The Discerning Heiress**

**Chapter Ten: Diamonds**

IT was a week after the completion of Miss Moores' case before her injured ankle was strong enough to make the journey to her parents' place of rest. Even then I cautioned her against too much use of it just yet.

The determination of the human spirit is something to be awed. As we rode across the field is Miss Moores' Phaeton carriage, I watched my companions with more than a casual interest. No one save myself would ever know what lay beneath those masks they wore. Only I could see the truth behind their smiles of contentment. Yet they possessed such strength that not another soul on this earth would have seen anything amiss. They would withstand this storm just as they had withstood every other. And I was determined to see them both through to the end.

It was nearly dusk when we at last arrived at our destination. I tied the horse off to a nearby stump and assisted the lady to the ground. Holmes had already bounded out, thus reaching the newly refilled graves far ahead of us. As Miss Moore and I made our way up the little hillock, he faced us and spoke with a somewhat overly dramatic gesture.

"Miss Marian, please be so good as to step forward and claim your fathers' treasure!"

She played along by striking a thoughtful pose, and walking round him several times. "I'm afraid you have me, Mr. Holmes."

"Ah my dear lady, I know that I do...but surely, with the information we have gathered in our past investigations you can deduce the location?"

She laughed quietly. "To be painfully honest, sir, I was convinced that they would be revealed when you unearthed my fathers' coffin."

"Miss Marian! You disappoint me! Watson? Perhaps you will enlighten us?"

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Alright Holmes, you've had your game, now where are they?"

He gave us a mischievous look and begin to pace over the ground as a lecturer would before a group students. "I admit that I would have joined you both in your erroneous conclusions, had it not been for my observation of one infinitesimal detail. You will recall the final section of that fateful poem written by Phillip Moore for his daughter,

_"'Recall this to mind,  
__The true treasure is only now mine,  
__But on earth the only key,  
__To my heart was thee.'_

We both gave a nod of understanding whereupon Holmes continued his soliloquy. "Carmichael took this to believe that you alone, Miss Marian, could open whatever contraption encased the jewels, perhaps with a password, or by riddle of some sort. And naturally he thought the line, _'For lying with death false life is found.'_, to reveal the location of the enclosure. Which is, I believe, precisely the conclusion that Phillip Moore intended any treasure seekers to reach. Carmichael was, of course, incorrect."

"Then where?" The lady asked excitedly, obviously caught up in the moment.

"In truth, you held no key for the simple reason that there was no key to be held. You held the true location. The actual last stanza of your fathers' poem. But I'm afraid it has been irrevocably lost."

"What do you mean, Holmes?"

He turned to Miss Moore and took her still bandaged hand in his. "When you so graciously took the bullet that was meant to be mine, the clue to the whereabouts of your fathers' diamonds was destroyed."

"But how..." A look of illumination swept over her lovely features, and she suddenly whispered,

_"'Look not to me,  
For your care,  
But to he on earth,  
That stands forever there.'"_

She turned to me with a smile. "My ring, Dr. Watson. The one that was my mothers. Engraved inside of the band, in characters so tiny they could scarcely be seen with the naked eye, were those words. The ring was lost that night."

"But what do they mean?" I asked, still very much in the dark.

"Come Watson, let us follow the instructions." Holmes had us stand at the foot of the graves. "Now let us look at the grave of Phillip Moore."

I was rapidly growing tired of this game. "Holmes it's nearly sunset, we'll have to-"

"Wait Doctor," Miss Moore interrupted. "Wait for that moment."

The sun dipped just behind the tree line, leaving the world in a perfect, silent stillness.

"Now," Holmes whispered. "Now, look up to _he_ on earth that stand forever there!"

We lifted our faces in unison, but mine wore a solitary look of shock. The sun, being at our backs, brightly illuminated all before us. The old oak, which looked over the graves seemed to be glittering part way up the trunk. A rather large opening amidst the upper branches was issuing a fiery glow that sparkled a brilliant jewel. And then the moment was past. The sun slipped down, and all was as before. Holmes looked expectantly at us.

"But the tree cannot be _made_ of diamonds, can it?" I gasped.

Holmes shook his head good-naturedly."Watson really. Come, we will go up and see what has caused this phenomenon."

The strange oak tree was made for climbing. One could practically walk directly up it's enormous, and thankfully somewhat slanted, trunk. Holmes went first , assisting Miss Moore, and I brought up the rear. He stopped as we reached the opening which, surprisingly, had much smaller branches, big enough for sitting perhaps, but not for climbing.

"Now you will notice that this tree, though quite old, bears younger branches at this point. No more than fifteen to twenty years old. Look here and you shall see why." He indicated the hollow place in the trunk, which was roughly the size of a large teapot. Miss Moore struck a match and peered inside. She gasped and jerked her head back, eyes wide with shock. Without a word she passed the box of matches to me.

I was struck with an incredible sight. Buried inside that hollowed out place in the trunk, were hundreds, thousands of uncut diamonds. They shined splendidly in the fire light, though covered with years of dirt, dust and decay. In the middle of the hoard, lay the Regent Blue Diamond.

"Phillip Moore obviously deposited them here in case of future financial failure. So that his family would always be provided for, whether or not he was there to care for them. A wise action indeed."

Miss Moore reached, and extracted a one of the larger precious gems. "And to think, they've been here all this time, and I with the only key...amazing is it not, Mr. Holmes? That people seek their entire lives, they sweat and strain and kill and die, for things such as these. And what is their true value?" She threw the diamond as far as she could into the field.

"Answer me this: what is lost by this course of action? Not a thing! What has been gained? Freedom. The freedom to let go of that which is considered 'life-sustaining'. The freedom to place ones' full trust in our Creator." She looked steadily into my friends' eyes. "And that which we can let go, we can survive without. The less we require for survival, the better our ability to do so."

Holmes returned her gaze briefly before lowering his eyes to the ground below us. I quietly broke the silence. "We'd best be getting back to the house. You'll be late for dinner Miss Moore, and Holmes and I still have a rather lengthy journey home."

We made our descent, as well our ride back in complete silence. As we we drew nearer to the house, I could feel the tension emanating from my companions. The case was finished. It was over. The diamonds had been reclaimed, the attacker removed, all was well and safe. There was no reason left for us to remain.

Before I knew it, we were standing on the stone steps of Moore Hall, with a cab awaiting us on the drive. The sun was very much gone, but in it's place a lovely, full moon sat in the starry skies. Casting long shadows all around us. Now that the time had come, I could not think of our parting ways. To think that this woman, who'd become such a part of our lives, would be lost from us forever...was too much to bear. I stood dumbly looking at Miss Moore, with her beautiful black hair wavering in the nights' breeze. The moons' glow upon her face, reminded me of her ethereal appearance when first I had seen her standing in her doorway. How I would miss her. Her wisdom, and faith were so comforting. I felt that life would somehow seem suddenly empty without it. I was at an utter loss for words. Perceiving my difficulty, she placed her hands on my shoulders."I am glad to have known you Dr. John Watson. You are a brave, loyal friend. I look forward to when next we shall meet. If not in this life, then the next."

She leaned gently forward, placing a chaste kiss upon my cheek. I nearly missed her last words to me as she backed away.  
"Please take care of him, Doctor, he will need you so."

I only gave a fervent nod, unable to answer audibly, for fear of my emotions overcoming my resolve.

Slowly, deliberately, Marian Moore faced my friend. She hesitantly took his hands before raising her eyes to meet his. They were filled with a mixture of loss, confusion and determination. Several moments passed before either spoke. A single tear slid rebelliously down her pale cheek, and my heart went out to Holmes, for he did not know how to say goodbye.

"Miss Marian...you are...a truly remarkable woman...may God bless you."

She smiled sadly." I have much to thank you for, Sherlock Holmes. Words seem quite inadequate. May our Lord guide and protect you all the days of your life. And may He give you peace."

They stood in silence a moment longer, before our cabby called impatiently to us. Miss Moore slowly released his hands. And Holmes, in a fiercer internal struggle that I have ever seen, turned, and walked away from her. She did not move, but watched as we drove down her stone driveway, and out of sight. Only once we had reach the outskirts of London did I turn to my friend. His grey eyes were filled with confusion. An emotion of which he knew nothing.

"Watson...I...I..."

I touched his shoulder reassuringly.

"I know Holmes...trust me...I _know_."

* * *

_/sob/ Somebody pass me the tissue box. /sniff/_

_Ok, anyway, and that's it! Hope you've all enjoyed it! If so, yay! If not, I'm sorry. :)_

_One more quick little note to say that I **KNOW**fully well this story is strictly AU, and don't personally think Holmes would ever have really fallen for anyone simply because he guarded his emotions better than that. But if, IF, he ever had, I really think it would've gone somewhat like this. And I don't really like normal 'romance' so anything that I write regarding a relationship is bound to be awful and depressing. hehe It's just my nature. So, nobody kill me if you please. I was really leery of posting these last two chapters (no duh, it took me HOW long?) seeing the direction they somehow went, but here they are. I have another tale or two up my sleeve but couldn't in good conscious start them with this one left unfinished. There you have it, over and done with!_

_P.S. If anyone out there actually LIKES Marian, I did write a few oneshots with her and Holmes and sometimes Watson. Just random little meetings and such, not slushly. (gag) But I'd be happy to PM them or post them or whatever, if someone cares to read. I also wrote a sequel, but it's waaaay long and is really more about Marian that anyone else, so yeah, now I'm rambling as is my wont._

_Thank you all for reading!_

_- VHunter_


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